Motherfuckin' OTP.

At this point in time in my life, I have never finished anything. Books, relationships, stories, video games, you get the picture. I have never finished a single train of thought. It's always spiralled into something completely different. This could either be due to my frequent trips of ADD or I could just suck at life. Life is a rollercoaster. I wish I could somehow figure out how to control the ride.
Thusly, my New Years resolution is to finish something, not counting this journal entry. I don't particularly care for your thoughts or opinions, but you can reply with them anyway. On another note, I may as well show you, my unknown stalker, a poem I tried writing but had no motivation to finish. Enjoy...or not. I don't really give a shit anymore. I wrote it back in June, and it burns my retinas every time I see it. I suppose you could count typing it as a form of masochism.

I had a dream that I lived in the clouds
or I could've been snowblind;
I couldn't tell.
Everything was white but me--
as if I were standing on a blank canvas
just begging for me to adorn it with lines, squiggles, and incomprehensible shapes.
Nothing above me, nothing beyond me--
just cursed white.
In a weird rationalisation
I realised that I was the colours;
my palate.
I dipped my fingertips into my shirt, stained them black, and began spreading my fingers out beyond me, trying to create my boundaries.
Trees fleshed out from my fingers, beginning as lines at first
.................. Oh god, this is insanely horrible. Nevermind.