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Beep beep beep. Space ships are here. They are taking me up, and inside. Weird noises, and psychedelic colors. Now I am on a table. It feels cold, but oddly, I don't feel panicked. They are ravaging my mind. My every thought is in danger. I am beginning to lose my hold, I fear. What did I do earlier? I can't quite recall. They do not seem to notice though. Maybe I can ask them. Maybe they know. My motor skills are distant now, as well. I am trying to lift my hand, but now it only seems trivial. Why do I lift my hand? My concern is fleeting. I don't even feel my pulse anymore. It makes me sleepy. Sleep. I just want sleep. Space ships are here. Beep beep beep. |
| If I had perfect hair, or if I had a perfect body, or if I cleaned the table perfectly, or if I made a perfect dinner, with a perfectly grilled steak, or if I had a perfect salary, or a perfect family, or a perfect internet connection, or a perfect score on every test, or if I drove the perfect car, or if I were the perfect friend, or the perfect catch, or if I could sleep perfectly and wake up as perfect as I was the night before, what would things be like? |
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I'm standing in the street, and I'm throwing out shit that I don't want. I don't want your pains, and I don't want your burdens. Get out. I'm standing in the street, and I'm throwing out emotions that I don't want. I don't want this fatigue, and I don't want this desperation. Get out. I'm standing in the street, and I'm throwing out memories that I don't want. I don't want your betrayal, and I don't want your guilt. Get out. I'm standing in the street now, and I've thrown out your shit now. Can I sleep now? |