696

undo the past
picture
the words
not worth it
unsprung
sensation
early rising
displacement
and the wreckage
that would weaken
and the bells
they say would ring in
day's judgment
of offensive
unoffensive
menstruators
blue balled angry
penetrators
crashing down
into the blackness
sleep
is all
that's left
made my way
past the wreckage
past the thorns
of insane's requiem
up and against
those casualties
faded to black
and fell
and I
here
am fading
as well

complete ignorance
Ig
norE
ance
don't exist
I
been a slave
through
waves
wires
miles and miles
of ideas.
no matter
don't bother
only with
compl
ete
ig
norE
nce

fill the void
with hollow sound
cut the noise
to higher ground
open black
below the mound
misery
all soul did shone
flailing new
the tangled limbs
four against
the monkey tin
and paling
proper print
grin
only me
within it lied

out of reason
out of
touch
out of
reason
touch
sigh away
just sigh away
hhmph
sigh away
just
hhmph

fill the void
with hollow sound
cut the noise
to higher ground
open black
below the mound
misery
all soul did shone
flailing now
the tangled limbs
four against
the monkey tin
and paling of
proper print grin
only me
within it lied

can you live your life without me -Garbage

I want so desperately to read something worth it. Not some misogynistic poor American-in-France pseudo-writer's work with an introduction that argues that he really wasn't a misogynist, but rather was abused why women. The author of the introduction supports this claim with an excerpt from the text, in which Miller or his protagonist refers to a character that was more misogynistic than he was as a "foetus". If I'd used supporting details like that in my most recent English class, you can bet I still would have gotten an A. But still is where my mind can't sit. All around me are the dancing jeering flashes of the undone, once they were negative, as I came. And still, it bothers me so how she mocks him. Through swigs of Fosters, she mocks him. And if you confront her, she says you simply do not understand. Pity Pity. But I guess I'm getting better at it. At not expressing. Plastic tree chunk woman. Wouldn't they love you. If you were beautiful like them. And all the while. Drugs unspoken yet spoke above. Between girls of young in, not only public places, but their own places of employment. Once again, the world does not give a fuck. Once again, I feel shitty. Once again, I will not say. While the whole dilapidated skulduggeried earth rots its fucking green pasture exterior away. I used to believe in dates, in the power of time, but fortunately or unfortunately, my concept of time is something that I've lost. Or maybe I realized that it wasn't real, constructed, and through this realization, I just don't give a fuck. I hardly understand why I am so nervous. Unable to concentrate. Diagnose me with Adult ADHD and pop me full of Ritalin. Or better yet, Adder all. Percocets. Oxycontin. Cocaine. Gallons and gallons of cheap alcohol. And all else that is pain-numbing, reality-killing. All else that is a facade. The same name as that club in Nyack where the loose women and even looser men congregate to get off so that they can't get on the train of reality. I would like to obtain a copy of No Exit and reread it with my twenty-one year old mental prowess. haha. mental prowess. I just proved myself wrong, as I'm sure that is the incorrect usage of the that phrase. I'm sick of being paranoid. Of keeping myself up nights. Of Working the life out of myself and having to pretend that everything is o fucking kay. When it isn't. It isn't at all.

saying I
why
the black line
on a bad time
malificent's
multiple
mongers
network down
I dialed up
to you
until
near far
approaching death
and all those
haunting ghosts
but
no translucence
unto you
black's fading
another life
I's born
into
and still I sit
and lie and
call love love
and melting up unto
the very sight
and still I could not see
can not
and blind
is sorry