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lack of motion lack of novelty
only using the words I already know how to say
the other day I wrote and stripped away all the personal pronouns. But the implication of the verbs were too cheap, who else would have starved? Stopped? Stayed? who else but
everyone in the world, everyone feels this way at some point or another. palatable platitudes I'm not pretending to be normal, I am. There is no sense of exceptionality, I don't want it. I want to be told that and subjectively adorned with an unconditional and always brightening love
In exhaustion morality and mortality exsanguinated Fuzzy formless suppression of
Don't say such harsh words because the points pinprick through and I can tell you mean it. I wanted you to change. I didn't love you then. Like the light switch going out in the hallway. the truth is I grew up with an impermeable sense of safety. I was going to eat and I was not going to die. Who cast a shadow underneath my door? Whose wind shrunkwrap me away. and to stop talking about this, sorry, it's a reasonable justification. Maybe I'm naive. Can we disagree and be lovers? All my friends are my lovers, I have no need for those who won't
Did I do something? are we okay? are you okay? but I had to think about these words, to some extent. the most base instinct, I felt like this way, with a capitalized I: you don't like me anymore. juvenile, why didn't I think love? is that too greedy? like and love and longevity, now and always, want you to take and give it all Be whole, be mine.
I don't do anything for you worth keeping me around but to be used. in any case, no reason for bitterness. Rising rising tide of
pushed up
against my chest and couldn't take in a
heart pounded like it was going to give
you have no concept of my being besides the words I say. Is everyone else this much of a liar? Play forgetfulness when I can't keep my story straight. it's not pathological, that's something else. it's normal
hate that word not for its meaning because of how it sounds. seriously, with an implicit denial. normal people don't think about normality enough to write it down. that's not true. isn't it all and always and generalizations, reductions, lose the details, case by case
I'd be a bad detective. I'd be a bad critic. I'd be a bad lawyer. I'd be a bad artist. I don't want to teach. I didn't ask for
so it's dramatic to say that I've already died twice. why? I'm not, that fearless, fearful, forward, faking face and
i'm sick of this already i have to do work bye
only using the words I already know how to say
the other day I wrote and stripped away all the personal pronouns. But the implication of the verbs were too cheap, who else would have starved? Stopped? Stayed? who else but
everyone in the world, everyone feels this way at some point or another. palatable platitudes I'm not pretending to be normal, I am. There is no sense of exceptionality, I don't want it. I want to be told that and subjectively adorned with an unconditional and always brightening love
In exhaustion morality and mortality exsanguinated Fuzzy formless suppression of
Don't say such harsh words because the points pinprick through and I can tell you mean it. I wanted you to change. I didn't love you then. Like the light switch going out in the hallway. the truth is I grew up with an impermeable sense of safety. I was going to eat and I was not going to die. Who cast a shadow underneath my door? Whose wind shrunkwrap me away. and to stop talking about this, sorry, it's a reasonable justification. Maybe I'm naive. Can we disagree and be lovers? All my friends are my lovers, I have no need for those who won't
Did I do something? are we okay? are you okay? but I had to think about these words, to some extent. the most base instinct, I felt like this way, with a capitalized I: you don't like me anymore. juvenile, why didn't I think love? is that too greedy? like and love and longevity, now and always, want you to take and give it all Be whole, be mine.
I don't do anything for you worth keeping me around but to be used. in any case, no reason for bitterness. Rising rising tide of
pushed up
against my chest and couldn't take in a
heart pounded like it was going to give
you have no concept of my being besides the words I say. Is everyone else this much of a liar? Play forgetfulness when I can't keep my story straight. it's not pathological, that's something else. it's normal
hate that word not for its meaning because of how it sounds. seriously, with an implicit denial. normal people don't think about normality enough to write it down. that's not true. isn't it all and always and generalizations, reductions, lose the details, case by case
I'd be a bad detective. I'd be a bad critic. I'd be a bad lawyer. I'd be a bad artist. I don't want to teach. I didn't ask for
so it's dramatic to say that I've already died twice. why? I'm not, that fearless, fearful, forward, faking face and
i'm sick of this already i have to do work bye
