Instagram.
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Text Messages.
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Discord.
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Back to Insta.

Forget why.

"So come on let's go
let's go below zero and hide from the sun
I'll love you forever, where we'll have some fun,
Yes, let'***** the North Pole and live happily,"

huh.
North Pole kinda screws up the tempo a bit

Wait did I answer James?!?!?
or was that yesterday?
nope. five minutes ago.
Do i answer again???
would that look weird?
Nevermind, i'll figure that out later
Oooooh new message from James
LMAOOO what is he even talking about

I should write a poem.
nooo I should sleep
I should write a poem about not sleeping
then sleep while thinking of my next poem
nooo i should prep for my meeting tomorrow
agenda bullet points
bullet point
point and laugh
that'd make for a good wheel of fortune clue
no.
focus.
where's the doc?!?!
Google Drive tab number 7
WHY IS IT OPEN TWICEEEEE

"Please, don't cry no tears now, it's Christmas, baby
My snowman and meeeeeeee"

I  just thought about it,

"where we'll have some fun"
what if "fun" though??
is writing this fun?
am i having fun?
am i sad?
am i happy?
anxious?
all of it?
none of it?

of right. Insta
someone typing
someone stopped
me, wondering if I said too much
me, saying more

meetingmeetingmeetinggggg
should i print this?
make it into a pdf?

and also "it's christmas baby"
.... it's July
right?

i think i need to sleep

When she goes to sleep

she babbles about today's --


experiences.

It tasted good
So many flavors
I truly enjoyed it
I enjoyed food

I loved it until I thought of my body
Then my stomach lurched
It coiled and warped
My hunger retreating
After only two bites
I couldn’t force any more down

I hated the feeling
I hated that I couldn’t do it
I hated the food

But what I hated most
Was my brain
For forcing me to think like this
I did it subconsciously
Not on purpose
Never on purpose

It was all my brain

Russel was given the nickname ‘Knowsy’,
Because he knew just about anything.
If the signs weren’t apparent, like the glasses on his nose,
Russel was a nerd, and believe me, Russel knows.
Whenever someone needed help on a test,
“Russel knows,” and he dealt with the rest.
When the **** needed to finish his homework,
“Russel knows,” and then the **** forced him to work.
Oh, the curse of knowledge,
How the nerd turns from a laughing stock to a precious commodity.
Reduced from a human,
To a know-it-all without an identity beyond his brain.
Russel hated how he knew this pain.
Haley needed a favor,
An assignment was due,
And she couldn’t afford to fail.
So she went to Russel,
Not knowing about his crush,
Would his heart prevail?
He was skeptical,
Why was the prettiest girl in the world talking to him?
He had envisioned this in his head,
But it was only hypothetical.
Russel knew that it was too good to be true,
When the first words she said were,
“What did you get on number two?”
He was being used…again.
Russel knows how it feels to have your smarts be used against you.
Russel knows how knowledge can wound you.
Russel knows these things to be true.

I’ve got a paper heart and a rock hard brain
It’s hard as any stone; harder that any pain
Now, my paper heart; it bleeds quite well
Look through my eyes and you can surely tell

Love is a tragedy; it’s all systems fail
All that’s good and right, all that’s what the hell
Paper hearts can’t crush a mind of stone
Paper hearts, they only cry when they’re alone

The paper folds quite easily; in the creases you will see
All there is to find and all there will ever be
Solid ground is where you like to run around
And here you are in the lost and found

Paper hearts and rock hard brains
Harder that the hardest pains
Paper hearts with your creases deep
Which of my secrets will you forever keep

Thoughts were fast
They're slower now
like shooting a gun
in slow motion

It hits just as hard
maybe twice of that
the true pain comes
with the waiting

oh true, it is simple
they lengthened the bride
A longer train ride,
from me to my soul

It is so boring yet alluring,
So strong and weak in just a nick of time,
To drive all night without hesitation,
To come back in the morning with a broken spine.
To switch the role of a conqueror to victim,
And juggle stories to make up a perfect line.
In retrospect, come up with better answers,
To realize it's all a waste of time.
It is a moment of complete misunderstanding,
To fill the cranium with what is wiser to be off.
There is an end that points to the beginning of a new axis,
It turns upwards, completing the dimension of a cartboard box.

It is not gullible as paper, still able to be molded and reshaped.
One day a hopeless sufferer surrenders
And talks oneself out of the noxious place.
Outside the box, imagination blossoms peacefully
Without the coerced necessity to play within the walls.
New tales embark on unexpected journeys
Demanding the narrator be an explorer to behove.
To find out better moments in decisions.
To finish pointless crushing of the bones.
There is a start that shifts the living
After the point of no return.

where is their heart?
I see it, there
buried in the scarlet and hurt
barely pushing blood and ready to burst

but it’s not from love. it cannot feel.
it has only hatred, burning for repeal
shunning calculation for sentiment and pain
for the thrill of what it was to **** again

are they sorry, in some part?
yes; but not the heart.
the heart still remembers what had been; that strange not-love —
birdsong that clipped the dove, (and let its shackles rust.)

so it is the brain that must do
because heart cannot feel,
and the only path left to choose
is to let itself heal

I try to write but nothing seems to come to mind.
"Oh how about this?" Nah, that sounds foolish.
I know I'm smart but it's like my brain just restarts.
Oh what to write.