&she's gonna make it out okay but she's shaking like a

revolution

doctor won't you pull the fucking plug?

won't you cut the cord?

i don't know where to start. i wrote so many things in so many different directions. not to mention the thoughts that are currently floating in my head that will most likely dissolve into the fluid that keeps my brain moist.

the roads were light gray with salt and dirty melted snow and i was driving faster than i should have and i almost hit a man walking along the side of the road. i didn't even flinch. he didn't either. [like me. dirty and dried up. and i don't want to feel anything anymore. i want no emotions. there wouldn't be a frown on my face there wouldn't be a smile and i could just exist without. without.

i went to the bathroom when i got here and there was no toilet paper and i thought that's how it always is. there's always something lacking. something lacking and i want a change but i don't know what that change is. this has nothing to do with toilet paper. my mind's analogies are twisted and warped and toilet paper has nothing to do with anything.

he's staring at me as i write and my eyes feel funny my insides feel funny and i do the same thing everyday the same routine the same feelings the same actions. beating in the same old trash with a different name. repetitive. repeat. reuse. recycle.

count dreadula: dont erase it!

adaftapeth: i have to it's fucked up and nonsensical

count dreadula: nono

count dreadula: i must read it

count dreadula: because i watched your face the entire time

i'm seeing things i need more paper. more space. i'm cold my hands are cold i am cold it's cold.

i am full of things i am not supposed to be full of. ingesting substances that don't belong and i just smile &&& continue on.

he's stuck he said and so am i. i don't think like i used to. i've tied myself down in a sick sadomasochistic manner and [and i can't even spell that word] and i cannot be untied. i did this to myself. nothing feels like it did;; a new stage of my life. completely different. i am different and it's obvious to those who have known me my entire life. i took a rite of passage into the place i am now and this is my home. every event every action every decision has molded me into the twenty one yeard old fuckup that i am today. i feel strange inside my head. inside myself where i've never seen. insides. guts, heart, blood and stuff.

i have scary dreams. dreams of things i've never seen in real life and i don't know where my mind gets it's thoughts and forms them into small movies that play when i am sleeping. i'm afraid that one day i'll not wake up and i'll be trapped in my mind and that's the last place i believe i want to be trapped.

i found more space i write smaller in case the words start flowing again in case my thoughts decide to unfreeze like the icicles that i stared at last night as they melted and dripped onto the cement. i forget letters i forget whole words whole sentences. phrases.

i hate.. i am ungrateful i'm uncaring i'm a waste of your time leave me here

leave me here.

the small edges of the bottle cap when pushed into my skin form a shape the reminds me of cogs and wheels. a perfect circle that interlocks with another to spin and make something work.

skin is thicker than you think. the epidermis the many layers. dead cells making way for new cells. shedding skin. i wish i could shed myself and start over. i wish i was samrter i wish i was smarter when i was younger. i would be better off.

he's leaning on my left knee playing video games. sometimes the controller vibrates and i can feel the bed shake. i was muttering but i don't know that he was listening. lots of times i say things and wish i hadn't. now is no exception.

my eyes are heavy.

he gave me a notebook full of paper so that i don't have to worry about running out.

he doesn't know it, but i watch him when he's not paying attention.

i don't feel like doing anything. i think i was drooling. yeah. i'm holding an unlit cigarette in my mouth. something familiar. comforting. familiarity.

i hate periods. i crave run on sentences and a steady stream of words without worry of punctuation or pause or ending.

ending scares me.

4:30 and i don't remember when i got here just that i am here

this afternoon i finished the best written book i think i've ever read. it made me feel small and insignificant and mediocre. lacking. a parade of mediocrity: me and my train of thought.

i have thoughts right before i sleep. i'm too lazy to get out of the cocoon i shaped for myself to write them down. thoughts you wouldn't want to fathom. couldn't fathom. me neither. i can't remember them at all.

unlit cigarettes taste funny.

i have a desire to play the piano and it's almost like breathing blood flowing heart beating. i haven't in days weeks. not since my dad was sick and in the hospital. and i feel like i'm missing something now. an emotion without a name. i want to shut my eyes and feel the smooth keys under my fingers like i did the very first time when i was ten years old. eleven years ago. hearing a noise that i can produce with my two clumsy hands. hearing the melody that is formed. major minor chords notes sharps flats. i can read another language when i play music. playing by ear takes talent that i don't have, but i would rather keep my knowledge of the thoughts and phrases that are written across the paper. that translate.

tobacco is falling out of the cigarette and i feel slightly out of place. out of sight out of mind. out.

tonight he made me cry. tonight he filled me to the brim with emotion and i couldn't contain his love for me. it seeped out while he was loving me.

i'm tired and full of thoughts.

i do'nt know what else to say.

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