blood red cabaret
i wake up in the morning. i lay in bed longer than i should. i dont open my mouth and I ruminate on the taste of silence on my tongue. i see god in everything. i see crucifixes in telephone poles, i see crowns of thorns in every tree. i feel my sadness like a thick viscous coating on the lining of my stomach. i cannot purge it and it comes up my throat everytime i have been idle for too long. i see pills in the palm of my hand--this is a memory. it's freshman year and they hold a promise of no more punishable dullness. i know what will happen and i see my future projected on the bathroom wall in front of me--i think of possessions. i feel the ghost in my room take a slim knife right across my face. i feel heavy ice cold iron weighing on my conscience. i dont write about you unless its about how much i hate you, nothing else matters except this pushing misery that tastes suspiciously like bile and sounds like an offkey piano. im so in love (with my misery) i let the world go by me. i dont sleep because i cant and i dont sleep because the sluggishness feels good. i say too much and i cant put it back. i say too much. i cant put it back.