(no subject)

[siktildoomsday]

getting hard to write without a beat, and even harder to write without rhyming. but thats a nasty habit, especially for vocabulary deficient fool like me. oh, where for art thou? easy, because i have to be. theres no reason, but that gives reason to feelings of displacement in this misplaced world. i am not of your kind, or for that matter, not of my own. i am something new, but not in control. trying to cut the strings with a shaky hand, missing and hitting my neck, only to remember that you bled me dry. i cannot die, nor can i live, so i walk these streets like an automated object. if you opened my chest, you would find my heart tangled in wires an crowded by knobs. try to turn my volume down, because im starting to bother myself. all this talk, with half the action. writing too many checks with out cashing in on what your giving out. sure its fake, but the line between lies and truth is thin and im not holding up to good. never could keep a balance. over doing things, and under appreciating their effect. i keep creating the means, but i cant see the end. im getting to shallow to take a dip in the deep end. getting tangled in the nets with all the other fish in the sea waiting to be cooked up for the gluttons. they wont chop me up and feed me to the poor because they know that would make too much use of me. even in depths, i mean, death, they make a mockery of me. id try to haunt them but that would take effort. and effort takes motivation. and motivation takes inspiration. and my muse is on vacation. gone fishing for the weekend. i know my words are getting lame, tired, boring, and down right stupid. but these cliches and exagerations are all i have to keep me from going crooked. and since im guaranteed to shoot crooked, then youd better stand strait ahead. if i try to miss youll wind up dead, because my aim isnt what it use to be. used to be? how do i think i am, and when will i get used to me. this emo garbage has to stop eventually. getting bore is a part of life, thats why when i was a kid, i thought adults were all terrible. they never had fun, and always took mine away. but now im not having any and their cracking the whip. a slave to the service industry. wondering when pizzas became so goddamn important. or when i stop believing that if i practiced, i could learn to fly. but now i just do it in my dreams and wake up, pissed off, that my feet are stuck to the ground.

im such a fucking bum. pleh, bleh, blah, blorg!

quote of the day: "but its holding me back. its clenching my flesh. its holding me down. its got me at my best. its my worst case. im fuckin standin with that judge. trying to push my off the cliff he gives me a little snudge-a-budge. i push. i fall. i teeter-totter im all over the wall. the sky just spilt and its about to fall. here it comes."
-face candy