The doctos didn't recognize my face,
__________.
Bad luck thirteen is the lucky number.
The last time I could've scribbled in this was August fifth, under the influence of hallucinogens.
I don't remember much more beyond the stars.
And, no one knows the trouble I've been in.
Things are beginning to tremble, my body is a diced, shapeless, pile as I lie on this bed.
Someone's yelling,
F
I
R
E
!!!!
EVERYONE, PLEASE REMAIN CALM.
And in that exact second, you close your eyes and play sleep.
Pretend.
Imagine.
After that, we're history. Finished.
Flatlined.
I can't ever seem to remember when, at any time whatsoever.
It's been months.
"Years," sneaks its way through that constant screaming and shouting.
"I'll eat you alive," bellows loudly.
-The Questioning.
Another one whispers for sleep in a tired plea, as yet another confesses that its heart is breaking.
All the while I sit quietly in a corner with my knees pressed up against my chest, refusing obligation and responsibility.
Sitting in this chair with an epilectic movement and a constant fidgetting.
There's music playing and the shadows are making everything a bit fascinating to watch. The big flame's up in the sky again threatening to blind us, and I'm completely astonished that I still have the slightest bit of hope left towards anything at all.
Consolation came with jagged slices and a dirty razor.
COMPLETELY STAINED, with matching devotion and love. Though I've paced around for countless-endless- hours, but in ten minutes, more tightly clenched jaws, teeth, and so much TENSION in the air, that you can cut it.
Sharp like diamonds, are you still listening?
It's moving a bit too fast and I'm growing dizzy. I'm supposed to be used to this by now, aren't I?
After six hours of semi-consciously pursuing the guiding headlights of the great metal beast to make it home to my sweet sixteen and loved ones.
Underlining EXHAUSTION.
I know that I miss you all, but I honestly can't remember right now. Taking over the empire, I miss you more than ever. We were such a team.
I anxiously await a PROMISE
that I made; you still mean the world to me.
You're still in my heart.
Marked by the Damned; a bold crimson smear along my forehead, screaming bloody murder, stabbed dry and hung up for all to see.
I'm beginning to grow weary of these robotic movements.
7:24 a.m.
-Clinton Hate
Bad luck thirteen is the lucky number.
The last time I could've scribbled in this was August fifth, under the influence of hallucinogens.
I don't remember much more beyond the stars.
And, no one knows the trouble I've been in.
Things are beginning to tremble, my body is a diced, shapeless, pile as I lie on this bed.
Someone's yelling,
F
I
R
E
!!!!
EVERYONE, PLEASE REMAIN CALM.
And in that exact second, you close your eyes and play sleep.
Pretend.
Imagine.
After that, we're history. Finished.
Flatlined.
I can't ever seem to remember when, at any time whatsoever.
It's been months.
"Years," sneaks its way through that constant screaming and shouting.
"I'll eat you alive," bellows loudly.
-The Questioning.
Another one whispers for sleep in a tired plea, as yet another confesses that its heart is breaking.
All the while I sit quietly in a corner with my knees pressed up against my chest, refusing obligation and responsibility.
Sitting in this chair with an epilectic movement and a constant fidgetting.
There's music playing and the shadows are making everything a bit fascinating to watch. The big flame's up in the sky again threatening to blind us, and I'm completely astonished that I still have the slightest bit of hope left towards anything at all.
Consolation came with jagged slices and a dirty razor.
COMPLETELY STAINED, with matching devotion and love. Though I've paced around for countless-endless- hours, but in ten minutes, more tightly clenched jaws, teeth, and so much TENSION in the air, that you can cut it.
Sharp like diamonds, are you still listening?
It's moving a bit too fast and I'm growing dizzy. I'm supposed to be used to this by now, aren't I?
After six hours of semi-consciously pursuing the guiding headlights of the great metal beast to make it home to my sweet sixteen and loved ones.
Underlining EXHAUSTION.
I know that I miss you all, but I honestly can't remember right now. Taking over the empire, I miss you more than ever. We were such a team.
I anxiously await a PROMISE
that I made; you still mean the world to me.
You're still in my heart.
Marked by the Damned; a bold crimson smear along my forehead, screaming bloody murder, stabbed dry and hung up for all to see.
I'm beginning to grow weary of these robotic movements.
7:24 a.m.
-Clinton Hate