What is love?
Baby,
Don't hurt me,
Ha Ha.
What is life?
Old.
Past-question,
Death.
If you knew you were dead
Would you continue to go to work?
Like weeds,
Growing on corpses.
I didn't understand life,
I don't understand this.
This dream,
This dream in death.
Free will,
Does it exist?
I eat
Because I am hungry.
But **** am I always hungry,
I cut myself
Because it hurts,
And **** it hurts all the time.
Can't count the cuts,
I miss the blood,
The way it trickles,
But I don't always cut.
I miss making decisions,
Could word this hypothetically:
Like it was for the audience,
The ghosts of the dead that watch life.
Did they have free will?
To die?
To watch the entropy,
Do the dead souls experience entropy?
Oh audience!
I hope you appreciate
All the effort I make
To balance my thoughts for you
Or make them entertaining
Or philosophical,
That is, make it take longer to process,
That you may miss the next.
I write because the thoughts
Are bleeding out my ears.
Did I choose, Me, did I choose
To pick it up?
And have these black lines
Wrap around my neck
And softly choke me,
Forever.
A testament to silence,
For the ages,
Just letting nothing know
That I was thinking of it.
And **** knows!
If the nothing-forever
Could pick up my book
Even if it wanted to.
Silliness.
This self destruction.
Perpetual,
As all things are.
Inevitable heat death of the universe,
Revert to singularity
To explode.
Then let's do this again.
Christ.
What am I doing?
Pain perpetually?
Until when?
Is brief non-existence
The only reprise?
All I have to look forward to
Is sleep.
And ****
What is the ******* difference?
Between sleep
And death?
Aug 17, 2023
Aug 17, 2023 at 7:52 PM UTC
What is love?
Baby,
Don't hurt me,
Ha Ha.
What is life?
Old.
Past-question,
Death.
If you knew you were dead
Would you continue to go to work?
Like weeds,
Growing on corpses.
I didn't understand life,
I don't understand this.
This dream,
This dream in death.
Free will,
Does it exist?
I eat
Because I am hungry.
But **** am I always hungry,
I cut myself
Because it hurts,
And **** it hurts all the time.
Can't count the cuts,
I miss the blood,
The way it trickles,
But I don't always cut.
I miss making decisions,
Could word this hypothetically:
Like it was for the audience,
The ghosts of the dead that watch life.
Did they have free will?
To die?
To watch the entropy,
Do the dead souls experience entropy?
Oh audience!
I hope you appreciate
All the effort I make
To balance my thoughts for you
Or make them entertaining
Or philosophical,
That is, make it take longer to process,
That you may miss the next.
I write because the thoughts
Are bleeding out my ears.
Did I choose, Me, did I choose
To pick it up?
And have these black lines
Wrap around my neck
And softly choke me,
Forever.
A testament to silence,
For the ages,
Just letting nothing know
That I was thinking of it.
And **** knows!
If the nothing-forever
Could pick up my book
Even if it wanted to.
Silliness.
This self destruction.
Perpetual,
As all things are.
Inevitable heat death of the universe,
Revert to singularity
To explode.
Then let's do this again.
Christ.
What am I doing?
Pain perpetually?
Until when?
Is brief non-existence
The only reprise?
All I have to look forward to
Is sleep.
And ****
What is the ******* difference?
Between sleep
And death?
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