M[(3)yet another]

Empty again.  All my fault.  Creep.  Awful.  Sin.  But denied sin.  So desired sin.  And on the way back. The return unable to relate to anything.  because it is all too good, too well done.  Difficult to relate to something so well done when I am such a piece of shit.  Need to seek out shit.  Something of low quality is the key.  Is the answer.  And through the bereft of greatness I will find solace.  If I could just go back, snuff it all out. Starting with myself.  Of course, I think as my head goes light, how utterly proper.  Mold.  Mold on my brain, on all my insides.  Makes sense.  Futbol.  There is too much filth.  I am unhealthy.  This is untenable.  Needs a change.  Need to delve into the crafting of.  Ah, the pain!  Rain falling on my turquoise car again.  It sorta fit.  Nothing really fits though.  Can we just pretend it didn’t happen?  So impure.  So much filth, again, tainted, everything is tainted.  It all comes from me.  I create my world and everything in this world is tainted because of me.  It cannot help but to rot.  I wish I could be entirely forgotten.  Obliterated.  Want every piece of me gone.  Even the memories of me.  Especially the memories of me.  I’m awful.  Awful.  Try to piece this together now.  Someone’s going to have to piece me together.  Libra.  Stunning.  Strange connective tissue. Libra in the middle of everything earlier on and the unknown presence becoming known for the first time.  Had to rid himself of the virtuosa.  Little star.  So many.  More needed.  Goddess of death.  Back to that tissue.   Laying in bed and realizing that some form was beginning to take shape.  You can see it all so clearly now.  The elegant path of destruction we lay for ourselves.  Please, never happened.  Please, I never happened.  That is the ultimate fantasy: that I never happened.  It’s all so empty.  None of these connections mean anything.  drifting away.  Need something more than suicide.  Something that would obliterate all previous years of my existence.  Remove me from the equation entirely.  I am morbidly obese.  At some point I discussed country music.  It’s always the same mistakes.  Five on orange.  Probably.  Should just go with water, with soda pop.  What was I thinking?  What was he thinking?  Tired from all the miles on the road.  Nothing relatable.  Only disease inside his head.  Should never return without parchment.  Should never return period but barring that.  Slowly weed everything out.  Feels like I’m disappearing.  If only.  Love sleeping.  Never lasts long enough.  Never learned how to read the.  Signs.  So obvious.  But you’re too stupid.  Chocolate.  Need to eat some chocolate.  Short span of time.  All makes sense in a yule sort of way.  Short time span in a yule sort of way.  Just a weirdo.  Ugly.  Creep.  Separation running parallel.  What does anyone really want?  Too much normalization taking place later on.  Bottling in the moment or shortly thereafter so important because then the putridity is temporarily forgotten and this cannot be.  There was so little of it.  Oh well.  It doesn’t matter.  Nothing matters.  Absence of something.  I like it when I don’t talk.  I need to practice not talking more often.  Didn’t even realize.  Rushing back if only to see.  No.  rushing back only to see.  The entire reason.  Everything planned around.  Fitting termination.  Desire.  Primitive animals. It’s all so sad and meaningless.  Need to reprogram.  Hurt to look at people.   Banging my head on the steering wheel.  Going nowhere.  My destination has always been and will always be nowhere.  The other day I ate a meal I could not taste.  Sat there cutting and eating and couldn’t taste anything, just stared down at the table.  I’m a barfly.  A gadfly.  Wanting to walk out.  Constantly confronting the mortality.  The lack of hope.  Utter uselessness.  This part comes afterward.  The great nothing.  Absence of all feeling.  That’s not quite right.  Everything numb right now.  Clouds gone away but still no sun.  that’s not quite it either.  Body is being punished.  So worthless.  Tortured for nothing.  Is reconstruction possible?  Can I not be completely undone?  Loneliness don’t quite understand.  That isn’t it.  Red don’t feel.  Trying to reach and always failing.  Too much failure over too great a span of time.  The pistol the con artist used would be my choice.  Art forger.  Red sheets.  I need to cover everything in red.  I know less and less about who I am.  Which is why there are no connections.  Before and after.  The after.  Ignored.  So wonderful.  Got to learn.  Again and again.  How many times?  Easy to use.  Let the use.  Because you lack the basic intelligence to recognize the difference.  Don’t you see?  It’s only a place of fantasy.  It is just dreams.  Low lights.  Wood.  So many consecutive days in a haze.  Numbing.  Don’t want to feel anything.  and anything I do end up feeling is fake.  Then awful and tainted.  Neverending cycle.  Again, killing myself is not enough.  Need to find a way to obliterate all trace and all memory of wasted and vile existence.  Got to get to….  Need to stop talking to people.  Was too pissy.  Such a fool.  Just accept it.  All the negative energy emanating from me.  Rotten soul.  Rotten heart.  Should have threw me….  Bifurcated mind.  Split.  I’m poison.  Must go back to the fake place.  Must live in fantasy.  I await you there at the ball.  Who will be collapsing? My god, please let it be me.  I don’t know anymore.  I never collapse.  I need to inject poison.  I need to be grey.  Look for emptiness (water).  Because I am empty.  There is never a real moment.  There is nothing inside of me except that which is awful.  All you zombies.  Singing about zombies.  Let me serenade.  This was all from before.  Need to stay with the crazy people.  In illusion.  I miss you dreadfully.