It begins... like a creepy, looming sensation, tearing at the back of your brain... the pure terror of it all, the realization that this might finally be your end... that here, in this moment, you might well fuck over and die, and no one would stop to wonder... but all would stop to stare. I quit. Everything. Slowly, I am beginning to realize that $7.00 just doesn't do it for me anymore... nore does laboring school days and meaningless tete-a-tetes with idiots and freaks who don't know shit anyway. I'm my own damned idiot freak... I don't need it from outside sources. What I want are quiet nights poised over the burning pen... what I want is not of Earth. What I want is a plague that will surely, as all other desires have done, cause my frightful tumble into revolting defeat. My stamina is lost in cheap clothing and expensive meals... extra tips for the waitress at Hooters with the sweet ass. Slow death for me, hunched over a plate of hot wings and fries, eating my health to shit... smoking my lungs to dust, bitching my mind to insanity. Dear God, I have destroyed your temple. What will you have of me?
I can't seem to figure out when to start breathing while I'm putting on pretty dresses and flashing the passing cars. I can't figure out when to start breathing when buildings are coming down all around me, the bleakness of the neighborhood a solemn reminder that like these buildings, we will all come down soon. Hard... fast... catatonic... and none too alive for living. I hide behind sunglasses instead and hope my dark skin will hide the fact that I'm dead again. We are all alone here, and Harry Potter is our resident worship idol... who else are we to pray to? they told me God is dead, and yet, we keep going to church. they told me rock is dead, and yet, we keep playing the music... I am the only affirmation.... the only thing in this world surely not breathing, and surely not finding her way out of her. What is this about? I don't remember. I can't seem to make this writing stuff mean anything to me, and I've know idea what that means.... or what you mean... or what I mean...
or what mean means.sometimes I just like to breathe.
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