Half Empty and Half Full:
"IF YOU READ, YOU WILL JUDGE."
My mouth is dry, my lips are chapped.
I'm talking about the kind of dry that comes with the scorching heat of an arid desert.
This is kind of bothersome, but I keep furiously sucking down cigarette after cigarette.
There's only one left, it's resting behind my ear.
It's only escalating.
Everyone in the apartment's asleep, save for one room. Their voices are beginning to become a bit of a nuisance. The shrieking laughter is tearing through my head, but there's nothing here to drown out their noise.
My body is being steamed alive inside of my clothing, but I can't let this pen rest to accomodate this particular problem.
I have an irregular heart beat.
The problem's only progressing.
A week ago, I scrubbed away nearly a years' worth of cleanliness as I bathed in sin for three days.
I strongly recall not wanting to do it, and I paid dearly for it.
All of the light-bulbs here are translucent and charred black.
Oh, what a repulsive sight it is to behold.
Tonight I played with It's younger brother, and he never plays fair either after he abandons you, leaving you feeling hopeless with reoccurring waves of meloncholy.
There are far to little opportunities for shelter with comfortability here.
The trees rarely provide shade to cool your cracked and aching skin.
As I walk during the day, tracing the cracks and lines in the concrete. I lose track of the situations and what he whispered to her and she confided to her best friend who let this and that and everything in between slip from their lips in conversation and it squated and crouched in mouths until it reached the speed of an avalanche and began demolishing everything.
I lose track of myself.
This always leaves me feeling worthless.
I've lost track of the person sleeping in the other room, covered in blankets, still completely dressed, with their knees pressed to their chest.
I've forgotten how good it feels to lie down.
This always leaves me feeling gutted and aged.
Big brown eyes leave me feeling content yet uneasy.
My snot still tastes like chemicals, and there aren't anymore rewards to be had.
Pale, golden, liquid, is made of sighs and dwindling faith.
She took me to the top of the world.
As I came back to reality, I didn't know what to do.
I froze.
The balloons are tangled in the fan.
The flowers are wilting on the dresser.
I watch with a blank expression as the dogs run about with bits of it in their mouths.
I think I recognize some of those dripping parts.
9:40 pm
-Clinton Hate
My mouth is dry, my lips are chapped.
I'm talking about the kind of dry that comes with the scorching heat of an arid desert.
This is kind of bothersome, but I keep furiously sucking down cigarette after cigarette.
There's only one left, it's resting behind my ear.
It's only escalating.
Everyone in the apartment's asleep, save for one room. Their voices are beginning to become a bit of a nuisance. The shrieking laughter is tearing through my head, but there's nothing here to drown out their noise.
My body is being steamed alive inside of my clothing, but I can't let this pen rest to accomodate this particular problem.
I have an irregular heart beat.
The problem's only progressing.
A week ago, I scrubbed away nearly a years' worth of cleanliness as I bathed in sin for three days.
I strongly recall not wanting to do it, and I paid dearly for it.
All of the light-bulbs here are translucent and charred black.
Oh, what a repulsive sight it is to behold.
Tonight I played with It's younger brother, and he never plays fair either after he abandons you, leaving you feeling hopeless with reoccurring waves of meloncholy.
There are far to little opportunities for shelter with comfortability here.
The trees rarely provide shade to cool your cracked and aching skin.
As I walk during the day, tracing the cracks and lines in the concrete. I lose track of the situations and what he whispered to her and she confided to her best friend who let this and that and everything in between slip from their lips in conversation and it squated and crouched in mouths until it reached the speed of an avalanche and began demolishing everything.
I lose track of myself.
This always leaves me feeling worthless.
I've lost track of the person sleeping in the other room, covered in blankets, still completely dressed, with their knees pressed to their chest.
I've forgotten how good it feels to lie down.
This always leaves me feeling gutted and aged.
Big brown eyes leave me feeling content yet uneasy.
My snot still tastes like chemicals, and there aren't anymore rewards to be had.
Pale, golden, liquid, is made of sighs and dwindling faith.
She took me to the top of the world.
As I came back to reality, I didn't know what to do.
I froze.
The balloons are tangled in the fan.
The flowers are wilting on the dresser.
I watch with a blank expression as the dogs run about with bits of it in their mouths.
I think I recognize some of those dripping parts.
9:40 pm
-Clinton Hate