psych.

[filtheedementia]

Christmas music infects and eats at my mind
and all I can think of is summer,
last summer, the last few summers
and next summer.
It eats at my skull, like maggots,
when I am forced to be thoroughly focused
on the literary,
the mathematical viewpoint,
the feminist matters and how to market
all my shit towards you all.
This does not matter, these things do not matter
as I masticate, with holes in my gums,
and mucus in my throat.
I hope things are to improve,
but they always seem to drown;
down,
underneath it all.
It all may happen for no reason at all
I guess I appreciate what I have had
and hope to mourn only so much
as to not wallow in some sort of
emotional self pity like the child
that slashes wrists and waits for the pills to kick in,
to smother itself in nothing but pillows with
plastic bags over my head;
their heads.
It will all disappear.
And the voice that echoed sounded as though it were retarded, but
only then could one enjoy such
meaningless joy
as a ladybug landing on your face,
smiling at that disgraceful face.
You are just far too special to be left alone.
Please don't look at me.