He drinks the filth that they sell him. He believes the pain that they inflict onto his paranoia. He soothes the pain with more pain, pain is all that he knows. The sadness that he feels is secondary; it is an effect of the pain. To diagram the pain would be useless. We know that the pain is there and that is all that we really need to know.

To exist is to hurt in order to not hurt. There are only extremes anything in between the two extremes is insanity, the color white or nauseau.

She collapses the caverns of my mind. She is fiction. To catch her is to catch a ghost. To catch her is to catch a lie. To catch her is to strangle the pain until the breath is gone and all that is left is silence echoing in a sobbing mind.

I cannot win battles that are fought against myself because I do not know what team I am on. Take me away. Take me into an alley and bury me thirty feet below it. I want to be erased in the sewers of the world.

She wept for me. It is always a he and a she, yet they can never be one because this too is a lie.

Dreams fly through the gutters of his mind collecting the damage that his dishonesty has built. His lies are his kingdom. His fantasies are his only salvation. His visions are his cocaine.