- Mental Junkyard… mind the dogs

step two three ten hut!	Jul 30th, 2007 10:46:26 am - Subscribe
I'm restless. I'm restless. I am without rest. There is so much undone, not commenced, not considered. I am restless. There is not enough time. The time is going, leaving it is flitting out of my hands. My hands fidget. I am restless. I am listening to music and its letting me know one track at a time the speed of my life's departure. And I am restless. There's something I can't quite put my finger on. I think I've been picking old old scabs in my mind again and managed to wriggle one of my filthy chipped fingernails under it... I've lifted a little bit and it turns out the wound is still alive, there's still a little blood flowing there. I've tried. Fuck. I've fucking tired to cauterise this wound. I've heated it up to red hot and stuck that thing in there trying to burn, blister and heal. Illusions all of it. Now I'm restless. Illusions all of it. I dreamed last night that I was harry fucking potter trying to save the universe. Riding animals around. Pinching other people's magic wands and running amok trying to gain the acceptance of other people. Just try to focus on your new family and for your own sake; don't feel restless... "i think a semi colon should go here"... Don't hold on. Let that go. But I feel... Stop feeling. I'm pleading with myself to make this all fucking stop. Tomorrow will be another day and I feel like I'm slipping backward into something that I don't want to be in. I feel like i'm sliding into somewhere I'd rather not be. What I wouldn't give for a cigarette... quitting is for quitters. Fuck this shit. Fuck my shit. Fuck this restlessness.... I just want to write. A thousand words. I don't care what they mean or they don't. I want to hold my own exorcism because here is my vomit and my head is fucking spinning. I shouldn't swear so much. I'd rather type than write these days. I'd rather scream than speak. I'd rather cry than sleep. I'd rather smoke than eat. I'd rather punch than kiss. I'd rather bite you than touch your lips. I'd rather breathe than break... but I'm breaking. Just for a moment. I'm restless. My mind is restless. My brain is restless. My life is restless... my head is spinning... My insides rebel against the picket fence. The dichotomy arises and I become a diptych inside myself... a trichotomy when you count the objective observer inside... "don't ask me kid, I just work here" Fuckers. ALL OF ME AND ALL OF YOU ARE FUCKERS!!!!!!!! The whole world is full of assholes and I'm just one shit away from flushing myself for good. Don't you think? Reflexive question. Let it all out baby. Let the words flow out. Fuck you've been spewing for four or five days now whats one bout of verbal diarrhea in the mix of all these mind numbing symptoms. Don't measure your words, lest they prove the measure of your mind. Tron
mood: distressed	(0) comments