saturday sun
there's nothing for it. what am i thinking? yeah, what.
the scope has become so narrow and my mind so bitter, distrustful, negative. i'm tired of listening to people talk about things. just in general. i'm tired of faning interest. there is so much ugliness just under the surface of my skin, and it keeps building. i want to vomit, i want to swallow a mouthful of poison.
blessed, blessed, blessed is the advice that was given to me! my insides burn and my eyes ache and life has become bleak and nearly unbearable. these wild pendulum swings. counting the minutes between counting my blessings and waiting for the storm cloud to pass overhead. we fall in love too easily, and out. if you think this is about you then it is, and if you second guess yourself every step of the way then you'll never go anywhere. Fyodor Pavlovich only ever cared about himself. O, these infintessimal failures! how, dear lord, do we go about addressing the dichotomies that so plague this existence. nobody really needs a needs analysis statement, where the hell does this robotic sterility come from? who was guarding the front door. you're not greeted in the morning with a "hey, hows it goin," it's a "hello employee let us meet to discuss the current paradigm and how you fit into the bigger picture." fucking run over me.
nick draked killed himself, and so did elliott, you feel your midsection pushing down towards your toes through your loins, there is just absolutely no place for beauty in any of this, you'll just be torn asunder, you'll be eaten if you're soft, you'll be absolutely annihilated.
and that, my friends, is all she wrote about that.
the scope has become so narrow and my mind so bitter, distrustful, negative. i'm tired of listening to people talk about things. just in general. i'm tired of faning interest. there is so much ugliness just under the surface of my skin, and it keeps building. i want to vomit, i want to swallow a mouthful of poison.
blessed, blessed, blessed is the advice that was given to me! my insides burn and my eyes ache and life has become bleak and nearly unbearable. these wild pendulum swings. counting the minutes between counting my blessings and waiting for the storm cloud to pass overhead. we fall in love too easily, and out. if you think this is about you then it is, and if you second guess yourself every step of the way then you'll never go anywhere. Fyodor Pavlovich only ever cared about himself. O, these infintessimal failures! how, dear lord, do we go about addressing the dichotomies that so plague this existence. nobody really needs a needs analysis statement, where the hell does this robotic sterility come from? who was guarding the front door. you're not greeted in the morning with a "hey, hows it goin," it's a "hello employee let us meet to discuss the current paradigm and how you fit into the bigger picture." fucking run over me.
nick draked killed himself, and so did elliott, you feel your midsection pushing down towards your toes through your loins, there is just absolutely no place for beauty in any of this, you'll just be torn asunder, you'll be eaten if you're soft, you'll be absolutely annihilated.
and that, my friends, is all she wrote about that.
1 Comments:
At 3:17 AM,
bava said…
...and in the morning you were woken by an orange lizard demanding coffee, and a sun that, though indifferent, gave the world a million different shades, and a million different qualities of light. Nothing can be wrong in a world like that, he thought, and drifted back to a pleasant dream.
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