when the moon found the sun he looked like he was barely hanging on, but her eyes saved his life, in the middle of summer

i'm not sure what the the technical definition of "recluse" is and i'm too lethargic to look it up
but i'd say by now i'm filling a solid eighty percent of the requirements.
i spend my time looking through my old pictures, my favorites all have you in them [god what a creeper]
listening to panic at the disco and frank sinatra [how original]
watching old movies [that was cool.... 50 years ago when they came out]
and reading hemingway [i got nothin for that one]
as you may or may not have postulated by now, there is a curious absence of those activities that may shed light onto my less than admirable qualities
i wish it were just for appearance's sake, but i'm genuinely ashamed of this sad, sad series of happenings and slightly premeditated occurrences that have led me here.
do you know what it's like to hate a part of yourself so much that you stop caring what happens to it?
it's like a feedback loop.
i figure my pride and dignity are long gone so a little alcohol, maybe some verbal abuse can't hurt it any more.

a thousand years from now maybe they'll look at these writings as a mummy of my love for you,
quite a feat of [verbal] engineering, but ultimately ineffective
cause no matter how much of the life i can capture with these phrases
what if they're as hollow as a pile of bones and cotton?
just like those cotton wraps couldn't keep the glory of the paroahs alive
i doubt anything i'll ever write will truly capture this love of mine.