(no subject)
there are days when the open bleeding wound hemorrhages more words than blood yet the words are too terribly slippery to transcribe trying to focus results in non-focus in a bad mood the fucking cats eat my plants paint is dripping on the carpet in a sickening thump and from there I tumble toward toothlessness as most standard thoughts question my self loathed obsession with the warmth of a woman so wrapped up in a blanket these blanketfeelings -or- some inability vaulted to think forward to create something outside of my tightly taut controlled mind with maybe some kinda brain waves and suddenly there is the doubt there is the heartpounding so loudly the room murmurs to the floorboards of foundation it is all too much to handle would the heart beat calmly to the coolness of some salve if I were in a position to be calm and when will that happen it is too far off and indeterminate and goddamn vague it is like there is a striving force toward something genuine can there ever be a sincerity it seems like no on days when clouds never move though the wind is sharp like ginsu fingers on an arm that will not reach