- •Because I'm laying in bed where all the feeling comes to bear on this convoluted mental climate.
- •I'm staring at the television. And its ceaseless sensory overload. A god damn fucking distraction. And distraction is the feebler of my drugs. What are all these fabrications of this motley existence blowing up in the face. Like shrapnel of sound and lights and changes.
- •I'm staring at my dresser. With all those massive books I promised my older self I'd read. Now I'm him and he isn't happy to find the pact broken. The books look over me as I lay here. Vacant empty gazes looping me into reaching for one of those papery world's to fall head long into.
- •I'm listening to a love song. Another drug to keep this burning infested mind at bay to the door where my peace of mind Ruffles it's brittle feathers.
- •Now I play something that makes my body feel like it's at home again. For a handful of split seconds. Instead of here in a broken land of spinning frustration and abysmal satisfaction.
- •I forgot what I wanted from this.
- •It is at such moments of quiet that my lips and tongue long to speak the words my person needs. That my mind rings brimming with the possibility of existential satisfaction but is left, for the most part, utterly remiss at its absence and the seeming inevitability surrounding it.
- •I throw myself into busyness and yet that is but another distraction from this torrential whirlpool of thoughts. That drag me crying out furiously for justice in such an unjust existences. For beauty and intelligence to shine in such horrid darkness.
- •I strike a match to let it smolder. I watch it burn.