Sheared Alpacas
uh
It’s a promise.
I wanna fucking scream, drive into a lake, jump right off a bridge, why can’t my life be my own to take. It always has to matter to other individuals, I have to walk a line of specific principles, I’m a fucking tool.
Tried to stand on the stool of life, wanting to put a needle in my vein, with a knife that’s leavin stains all over the bathroom drain!
It’s a vice, that ill commit once or twice more, maybe thrice.
Like mice caught in a trap making too much sound, I would love it to be quick when I get the ground and a semi runs me over from the other town.
Why the fuck I do always make promises, I promise this. Why in the hell do I promise shit! In the end I guess that’s it.
I wake up from this dream, and then I see in the mirror someone that’s less like me so I scream. I had a better half, a better chance, a better life, something better than me that could push away this fucking knife. But I made a promise, I can’t break it now. My strengths depleting, hopefully I’ll still be able to see tomorrow somehow.
Its like a sickness
and my head is the creator. i just wanna roll up, and probably evaporate. maybe the emptyll stop
i suddenly have a sickening feeling
The things that i want seem to be just that, things that i want. Like a dream, and i wont be able to have it. The more i think about it the more i get the feeling that all will be for not and i will end up on the floor, my hand digging into my chest as i try to rip out this ungodly thing called the human heart. To look at it and try to hold an intellectual conversation with it and try to figure out why it makes me feel the way it does, and why it always feels broke. In the end the two of us will try to help each other figure out each others problems, then ill have to put him back and set my brain out on the table and tell it to stop all of the thinking that it does. It drives me crazy, makes me sick and breaks my heart for no reason other than mere thought, thinks of the endless possible outcomes and events that could take place in the next minute, hour, day, month and year. Every thought though is cascaded in a black residual ooze that hold every wanting to cause pain unto others, and that wanting of pain to be done unto myself. In the end i will only have to thank him for being the way he is and place him back into my head, and continue being curled up on the floor. What i want seems too fast, too much, and selfish in some ways, but i know, i know that i have to stay hard inside. Im still afraid of being too open and then getting stabbed in the most vital part of my soul.
