there is space enough for the one who is sleeping, if you wish to stand, there are changes in a moonlife you will never afford. carrying myself as if i will slip into obscurity next tuesday precisely at eight in the morning, as if i've fallen victim to the bandit in every wandering eye. it is not a metaphorical world, magical, everyone and every thing in a slow crawl, dying in moderation. i am close to you and the broken stare of someone who knows that everyone thinks they are gone. this is called waiting, staring into street lamps to make sure it is real. soft lighting, always, slicing liquid diamond, i see you swelling. i give you my lips, you will forget to be afraid, your blood to water, it will fill our failing ocean. i was so sad watching the dry dead earth drink it all away.

he is like the calm after a thunderstorm, a really good mindfuck. he deserves an elephant death.

she is like a human sculpted with pure energy, chaos, wrapped in a frightning uncertain vulnerable skin. i was afraid, but i wanted in. i still do. we think of her as different and we think of her as wrong because in this world it is not okay to be that way. in this world everyone wants the quick-fix-make-sense sociable human prototype.

i hate to explain to the ones that can't matter that there is nothing, an absence of connection. i will invent one to avoid the unsettled feeling that some people (many people) may be mostly completely insignificant to the way my life will unfold. they are peripheral creatures, and they fill my head, sometimes a shadow over things, humans i'd love to feel again.

nearly starting to believe the universe. sometimes i think there are reasons. reasons are not answers, and i probably will not live or die tonight.

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