in the Danger Zone
last night was a slow movement. i was growing into myself. looking inside a glass motel. the further the rooms were to me, the better i understood misunderstanding. i showed everyone i could and no less than a single person that i couldn't. everyone i showed could not believe a world with such complicated visions. such as they are, i was. it seemed everyone i showed this motel to i found something different.
their words, like music, grew through me like an empty wound, and would exit forceful and rigorous like the bullet movements through flesh.
i suffered for many months that turned to re-plays, and over then "over agains". years of my life wasted in tricking myself into thinking: i can live life without pain.
and in that thought alone i fell from the top of the jar as stuck on jam, or lava lamps making their dance. through these thoughts that i have been fighting for the last year and five months i have always been able to escape through their music. not even thinking about all the adventures that i have been through these last few years have been that much of an escape.
i hate the hitchhiking i did.
blow it out my ass for all i care, but people talk to me differently when they hear my stories. when they hear i did somwthing not normal. but i ask you, why does "normal" even exist? is it on account that we collectively have a semi-average gestation? and even more to look into, do we have "normal" 'cause we're all laid to rest at the end of our days? Commonly called, "life".
there is nothing normal about anybody; the more i am hearing the songs people sing to me. an ant bite to me feels good, that doesn't mean i was bit in that same place as anyone else. it certainly does not mean that it hit the same nerves either, if any. and it positively dwill never ever come to: i was in the same mood as anyone else bit.
are we afraid to be alone? so we made a cast that HAS to exist 'cause no one wants to be alone. so they figured this entire living thing out. then put an antiqued tongue to smith a word.
no one.
their words, like music, grew through me like an empty wound, and would exit forceful and rigorous like the bullet movements through flesh.
i suffered for many months that turned to re-plays, and over then "over agains". years of my life wasted in tricking myself into thinking: i can live life without pain.
and in that thought alone i fell from the top of the jar as stuck on jam, or lava lamps making their dance. through these thoughts that i have been fighting for the last year and five months i have always been able to escape through their music. not even thinking about all the adventures that i have been through these last few years have been that much of an escape.
i hate the hitchhiking i did.
blow it out my ass for all i care, but people talk to me differently when they hear my stories. when they hear i did somwthing not normal. but i ask you, why does "normal" even exist? is it on account that we collectively have a semi-average gestation? and even more to look into, do we have "normal" 'cause we're all laid to rest at the end of our days? Commonly called, "life".
there is nothing normal about anybody; the more i am hearing the songs people sing to me. an ant bite to me feels good, that doesn't mean i was bit in that same place as anyone else. it certainly does not mean that it hit the same nerves either, if any. and it positively dwill never ever come to: i was in the same mood as anyone else bit.
are we afraid to be alone? so we made a cast that HAS to exist 'cause no one wants to be alone. so they figured this entire living thing out. then put an antiqued tongue to smith a word.
no one.