look into my wound: i feel like a fuck. i mope. i read but can't stay awake. i rub satin on my face and breasts. i listen to scandanavian symphonic metal or german industrial or something angry and european. i drink water. i wish i were different, or that you were.perhaps we feel like punching each other, but i'm sure it's still love. i wish i was in the chilly sea last summer when love was always in the air even if it wasn't supposed to be. i'm hungry, yet have no will to eat. two days ago everything was perfect-- isn't perspective a serious fucker? loud music is so much more satisfying when i'm mad-- it's like cutting yourself for your ear canals. german industrial with closed eyes puts me in a smoky goth bar, wasted and smoking black clove cigarettes and having huge german men and women kiss me while i dance. when i open my eyes, i'm only here in front of my screen and i'd rather spit blood. i'm reading canlit that couldn't speak more to me now. i've read it time and time again, but this time i too, feel consumed. everything is more relevant now. please go reread all the shit you read when you were a know-it-all, done-it-all teenager. you will laugh piss when you see the layers you never suspected. perhaps it hurts plenty more, but introspection is fun (then why are you crying?/good question). ass ass double ass. ass bananas.
what happened to the days of yore?
where is the shit you've been looking for?
where is the basket you want so badly?
it's hollow and broken, go cry to your daddy.
1 comment:
maybe. perhaps michel will take me (what a dolt).
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