That feeling when.
When you don't care how strenuous
Or how tired you are
Our that your shoulders are burning
Because you are being therapeutic.
Your hips are medicinal
Her lips are mythical
You pull her ******* to the side and make her forget about her day

do you ever think it (life) feels like you are dragging your feet through one maze-like dredging eternity after another? but then sometimes, just sometimes you see a glimpse of possibility, what a beautiful cruelty that glimpse is bright enough to keep us trekking on. i don't know, my beloved eventuality, i don't know how far away you are. buton the off chance that im walking just a bit closer to you,
ill keep walking just a little farther.

Look at me with wide open eyes.
Know that I am not as I appear.
I never did mind the darkness,
Even though it frightens me so.

Sometimes, I fool even myself
Into thinking that I search for answers.           
                                             ­      
The truth is something more
Than I ever will display.

SATOR
AREPO
TENET
OPERA
ROTAS

And I awaken.

I speak for him,
I speak though him.

It does not matter the reason.

Never, never will I leave.

There was a crystal chalice
From which I used to drink.
There was a set of pricipals
On which I used to think.

And once the door is opened
The words begin to flow.
I am his brother, partner, lover.

I am the summate of his fears.

I am the solvant of his tears.

Sometimes all you have is yourself.

Sometimes all he has is me.

I make the decisions,
And take the actions
That are too difficult for him.

There are times I haved saved his life,
But I should never be mistaken for what I am not.

My venom is toxic.

i am drunk, i hate myself.
im crazy and attempting to be crazier
"sage the house" ******* random old psychic.
and the worst thing, watch it work. amirite?
i am drunk, i hate myself, so you know what i need?


snacks.

I dont know if im okay.
i dont know "where" i am
i want someone to notice sometimes but i dont think there anything that can help, most of the time i dont want anyone to noticee at all.
its strange to be tense but directionless, like all my energy is being spent locking me in place.
i cant get out of my chair, or my bed, i sit around with one shoe on,
is this "bad" ?
is it bad enough to need help?
from where? would could fix this?
and like a scream reaching its end, it dies, and im fine.
i get up, i go to work, i brush my teeth. i take a shower. even exercise. and im :fine"
and it happens again. i lay on the floor and i am restless. but i sit up and im dead.
i dont know where i am.

Seeing the flames
   Burning everything in there wake
             Taking my soul down too
   I can't take all this
       For God's sake
    Like a sidewalk massacre
Everyone has to stop and stare
        Watching all the blood drip
    But none of them really care
           Gotta get a grip
I know this life ain't fair
         Trying to balance my thoughts
    On a tight rope of razor blades
Getting sliced up on the inside
      No matter which choice I make
Whether or not I know they lied
           I'll always know they're all fake
   And it's a shame
           That it's always a game
     With no way to win
Or start over again
         Without being the only one to blame

There's a beautiful gun in my hand.
Flawless.
                     The nightshift sun gleams off the barrel like a swan on a lake
     At home against the humid sweaty dark pressing against everything yet awesomely singular

     The clock stopped a long time ago and gunshots took over in place of the ticks and tocks…

     (I'm chewing on something soft)

                        … and I never noticed.

It seemed natural.
Every bullet chambered was just another hour passing

       And though it feels like forever I know its been half a day
      

        Blood laces the treads of my shoes
     Hugging the rubber and drawing patterns that I'm less aware of than I am of...

     (What is this? It's good.)

... myself

         Everyone I know is sitting in a pile.
        No more alive than the gun itself.
Still they talk. Memories are shared and advice is given. I don't care to know if its real.

        Everyone talks. It makes sense.
   Even the dead.
  
           The ceiling fan noisily labors diligently if not futilely against the unspeakable heat. It's the only sound I can be sure of. The motion helps.

     Nothing else is moving except...

    
(Chewchewchewithinkicanithinkican)
    
        ...My jaw. Steadily gnashing through…

     (Everyone talks)

            My tongue. I don't care about the blood at my feet or the fact that its coming from my mouth.

      *What worries me is that now everyone is staring at me and I dont have any gun at all