and no exotic birds and no seashells i have found, could even replicate these god awful screams there's not an echo in my entire surrounding, no one hears a thing but to me it's loud and clear
there is too much viscosity and my feet won't leave the ground everybody's harking at me and i'm too afraid to move around i've got no will to fight and i almost can't feel my legs i can taste your skin and i can feel your breath i've got so much but there is nothing left in front of me
it's not even enough when it burns like a spider bite on every pore from the inside out like some perfectly placed coals beneath my ribs. like an agonising concert where it never seems to hit the crescendo like an alcoholic father who is never impressed no matter the lengths you go.
there has always been this indecisive cancer in my brain growing and expanding, i wash it away with empty optimism like a parasite it's tugging at the wires which control the path i take one day it will steer this trainwreck off the rails of this neverending track.
and when destitution takes a hold of you, what is left to obtain other than absence and the thoughts undue? it feels like i should have something between what makes me contort, and what rips at my spleen. and i want to know the feeling of a million burning suns and i want to know what it is like to tear at the flesh until paralysis comes i am not suffocating but i can't catch my breath i am in between dying and living for what's left.