Did you ever want to just be?

The pilot light took mine.

Smelling pain.

A little bit this side of insane or maybe alot depending on which voice you ask. Sedate me, then shoot me. Shoot me, then take away my passion. I'd like to die with it, but if you have to take it--take it when I'm dead. When I'm not looking. When my ashes sail down the river--chasing all the dreams I had in life. Did you know I was awake when you stabbed me in the back? And that it wasn't my back? You couldn't see the way I could see, but it wasn't my back. You still can't see the way I can see, but you look mighty lonely hating me. I'm sure you'll find a friend or two along the way though. At least that's what a little voice in my head told me. The voice said that you'd find happiness and that I should stop enjoying misery. "It's bad for you!" it scorned and then another voice shot that voice. A war erupted and now they're all at war, but I take comfort in knowing that at least the hallucinations have left.

She's brave to make you wear that gas mask, I would have sat back and let you die. That's the problem with empathy, it kills your murder instinct. That's why I ripped my heart out years ago, but sometimes at night when no one's looking I sit in the corner and cry for all of the people I've killed. I'm tragic that way.

Resltless impotence. I could scream for days, but it wouldn't heal me, it wouldn't bring any closer to the equanimity I long to suffocate on. Loving nothing, so I can rest a few seconds before I go back on trial. I feel all of the fragmented pieces floating in different directions and leaving me on this island. Did I tell you I hear voices?

I had a dream I misinterpreted, I'm sorry that I shot you.

In retrospect. I'm not sure anymore.

Crawl. Unite the imperfections in your mind and maybe you will get a narrative, but you'll have to do it alone. Soothe. Expunge and retalliate. Tommorow was just another day, but if you listen closely you can hear all the places that I broke. No sense in misery. Doors closed. Friction numbed. Take a number. Sit down. Take notes. Fever. Burn me, not the witch.

Fall, break and roll because there is no other way to stop hemmoraging.

Live. Livers. Slivers of memories. You make me sad the way you stare at me in my memory, but thanks for making me feel alive--I needed that and nothing else. You don't have to come back now, it's too late anyway. I just hope you did alright and never stopped dreaming those angry dreams that made me fall madly in love you.

Wind. Leaves shuffle and he shuts the door. Memory remains. Stains

Spots, words and Hamlet, but still no cure for being me. I'll call you when I'm done or maybe you should just wait until I'm dead because I've got too much to say but only one life time to type.

So ill. Refined.

Refind and dream.

End hunger.

End End, but I still don't know who shot me.

Nuances and kisses for your pouty soul. Just don't forget the password and you'll be alright. Othewise you won't know when to stop. You won't know when to pull the lever and say,

"Enough."