Funny how. Magic. That last one links up with wheels. Kitchen anniversary. All relatable. Damn I’m old.
Seven is a good number. Feel like
shit. Cause nothing really matters. Nothing really matters. All these years I’ve been insisting that I am
an insect. Long time since seeing lights
in the sky. Drowning. My place.
Waving goodbye because I don’t get to go to heaven. Of course, I think as my head goes light, how
utterly proper. Stop avoiding it. I can’t actually feel anything. what’s happening to me? I’m not me.
Is that okay? Money doesn’t
matter. Flushing everything. Red. Mixing
red. everything so easy initially, like
nothing happened. Lot of smiling going
on. Celebrity. Not friends.
Acquaintances. Lot of arm
twisting going on. No more hugs
please. Hugs are so painful. Pretty much all physical contact is
painful. Glorious retribution in one
sense. Modification of sin. Tearing up now. Blocking everything some how. Flowers.
That’s not right. You are repulsive. You are repugnant. Loathe myself. I didn’t even notice. But then a shot little clip. Would never go back. All passed by in a blur. Magic is a good word. For something very brief. Everything is idealized. Nothing is real. Just pretend it didn’t happen. If I could snuff it all out, starting with
myself. Sure, if you want to. And then so much positivity re. the one who does not compare. Everything is fallen and we are all so
lost. I don’t exist and that is how it
should be. Landlord laughter. This would be so sweet in the rain with no
interruptions. I’m just lost. Good vibes and the moon. For a moment there was a genuine
dialogue. Wonderful. All smiles.
No. real. Bristling against everything. Hate what’s real. Hate myself.
But was there not a seed of something nice in there? Yes. But
as ever it is instantly tainted by my being a part of it. I don’t know anything. I don’t know anything. I wish I could be eclipsed. “I am”.
Just seeing how it goes. Not even. Pre. I’m
a joke on a cosmic scale. I don’t feel
right. Prick. No fair.
No common courtesy anymore. My fault. I’m not understanding the critical gaps through
the decades. Why are you so stupid? That last question was addressed to me. Little barbs everywhere. I’m a creep.
Warmth. Approaching. Complacency.
Desire to give warmth. Nothing makes
sense. Nothing matters. And the memory afterwards is simply a
distortion. Sometimes glorious,
sometimes not. But how I would love for
all memories of me to be annihilated. If
I could just erase myself and all traces of me.
From everyone’s mind. Scorpions in
my head. Always room for farce as I realize
what a putrid individual I am. All rotten
inside. Belonging in a grotesque sideshow
of freaks. This is me now and forever. Can barely keep eyes open. Just want my place to be dark. I want everything around me to be dark and then
I crawl inside and close my eyes and die that’s it. No, still need some force to annihilate all
memories, all traces of me. Need to be obliterated. See now, light touch on his back. Always.
Waiting for that. Going to be so
far away from now. And something like
fruit punch. I don’t know, haven’t been
able to figure that out. But he knows
five seconds. Five make everything else
worthwhile. That is the illusion. That is the poison being inserted mixing with
the poison already inside him. Dull eyes,
dull smiles. Everyone looking upon him
in disgust only he too worthless to understand.
Please go away, please stay away.
Need to leave myself. Let that
wave be the last. Truly beginning to understand
passion though I strong suspect I am incapable of it as I am incapable of most
things. Saw some happy people dancing
and none of them looked anything like me.
Ghost. There is only grotesque
fantasy there. Grotesque because anything
coming from him (me) is awful. You already,
you don’t need to, you always. See clearly
now someone else claiming ownership, left inside the abandoned building on the
water. Soon our hair will be grey. Letting it show. All have our place. No admittance to heaven for him. Everything is grey as it should be. Still can’t stay awake. From the first minute just want to go to
bed. All those happy people and if he
could just emulate that with…then for a moment things would make sense but not
it will never happen and things will never be good and he only has himself to
blame. Absence is always felt but he is
in the place where the steps echo and that is sufficient though it is all so
deeply sad. Tired fingers. Everything cold and dark. Vampires in the morning. Everything leaving me. Of course, I think as my head goes light, how
utterly proper. Better remain trapped
where everything is fake. Write letters
that will never go to anyone. Too useless. So sad.
Laughing stock. Creep. Worthless.
Everything feels so heavy. Go on
now and walk on water. Maybe if he cuts everything
up it will all make sense. Going back to
libra again. Probably subconscious. Has to be.
Always such a fan of
bookending. Yes, you can write an ending
to all of this. The sadness (as in
pathetic) will spread through word of mouth. You are atrocious. What a den of sadness. And you the king at its center. The thrill side by side. All meaningless. All so quick.
Still time to meet at the ball. Yes,
best to stay right here where everything is imagined. I am so deeply sad. Laughter.
Provoking laughter, such a wonderful thing. Something with no conclusion will always
remain favored inside. Smile as you turn
away. Everyone comes and goes and none
of it matters. Dying on the inside. So lovely.
Endlessly lovely. Adoration. Write a letter that will never be sent. All the lovely black leather.
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