oh, lucky days, where have you gone?

what happens when all you can do is spit poetry?

it's like breathing fire, the way we circle one another. I exist in my head far more than you exist in yours. I can curl my lip because I have seen the way the breeze heads that way in search of a better pastime. Egocentricism coils around my wrist like a dying serpent and of course I have to step forward, are you mad?

today will be forgotten.

but what but what

my breathing was slow and labored.

was it really worth getting out of bed? would my misery just take hold like it always did, like an old friend or some one you just couldn't get rid of. that shadow always peeking through. are you serious? i suppose, i suppose so. and now he's dead, aren't you proud of yourself? i wish i could find the worsd to describe how i feel but they wont' come out and i feel really terrible and gross and old and young and just incomplete in general.

i think in run on sentences.

one day they'll all be sorry. one day one day one day but when will it come?

light light high high

i feel poetic today

and why shouldn't i? after all i guess it's celebratory I don't feel empty for once.

i stumble over my words because i've cut my fingers and bruised my elbows. and when my teeth tumble out to greet your fist as they've always done wil be happy then? my throat closes. my heart closes and turns to stone

i'm becoming less forgiving as the numbers increase. soon i will be nothing b ut a machine and you will be able to do nothing but mourn, cry on your hands and knees as i turn to face the sunset. i wish i was one of these beautiful little things that giggle and purr when held. i will merely push you away.

still freezing after all this time i'm sensing a theme here.

words disguise my desires. i love them and need them.

move onward from here.