How do I feel right now?
Why is it so **** important? Feels like my attention span is only being shortened cause all my **** and plastic on my skin is what’s adsorbent. So if you said my soul was concocted I guess we’d be accordant. Its true I’ve adopted all my adapted compartments of my psychological being for taboo accrue accosted. But my mind is a *******; almost everything ***** with it on a dime on the daily, the blind consume my form frailly, I constitute a new frailty but it’s only just barely that I’ve decided this lie has got me subsided because my morals collided on all of my **** misguided attempts to feel delighted.
Ah hell, I’m not getting anywhere with this, I just wanna dismiss all the bliss it may give me to think about you-know-what and you know why I’m always amiss, I might as well take my place amongst the abyss. Anyhow, you’ll probably outlive me. I just hope you'll forgive me. The thought disavows, a lot more than I should allow, and it always leaves me asking myself:
How do I feel right now?