Tuesday, December 19

my mind is flooded and my head is numb. thoughts are beginning to slow down, as if they are drugging themselves with tranquillizers. reducing my mental process, causing structred ideas to diffuse into the surrounding air and drift away in unobtainable wisps of vapour. the eyelids become heavy, as if i've spent the whole night infront of a screen, though i wouldn't know what that is like. with lacking experience and a diminishing grasp of consciousness, my body becomes languid but my hands yearn for something to do. something to touch, to make, to hold, to push away, anything to do except clentch and unclentch as if they were extra cardiac muscles. my sentences become like shopping list, using commas like dot points. Analogies come into to every phrase and words merge to form sounds of a new language. a language for the tired and weary, the unaided and alone, the miserable and wretched and for those who know no one's really listening, resulting in the jumbled mess of words that on delivery may not even be questioned. maybe sleep is the best thing. maybe sleep is the right thing. my eyes tire of this screen, my pusle echos in my ear, there's nothing more to say here. there's nothing left to say.


don't judge personality by a persons writing
is innocence just a religious expression for ignorance?

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