(no subject)
i choose sometimes to lay in it, let it slide over me like sludge. i imagine the disgusting flubber carrie makes with glue and food coloring and borax with the retards at work. i imagine my whole being coated by this. i drown to death in it when i'm alone. i know what is going on when i'm not there because i know what is going right in front of my face when i am there.
and i know i don't have it so easy but most of the time i do. sometimes even this life that makes me want to close my eyes, bury worn brains further under the pillow also makes me want to press my face to the sky, eyes to the road. i feel like the ocean- sometimes it pulls so tight and vaccuous and sometimes it swells to the point of crashing overfill.
i want to start making clothes in every shade of grey, stitching being white in a boxy fashion. like an outline or someone's impression of clothes. everything simple and pure. no shadows to cast, all character and style siphoned away.
and i know i don't have it so easy but most of the time i do. sometimes even this life that makes me want to close my eyes, bury worn brains further under the pillow also makes me want to press my face to the sky, eyes to the road. i feel like the ocean- sometimes it pulls so tight and vaccuous and sometimes it swells to the point of crashing overfill.
i want to start making clothes in every shade of grey, stitching being white in a boxy fashion. like an outline or someone's impression of clothes. everything simple and pure. no shadows to cast, all character and style siphoned away.