(no subject)

Nov 17, 2008 14:39

I feel like a vulture going against its nature or maybe itself. I sense some deadened part of me, and I want to peck and puncture and mutilate the flesh in order to tear the malignant pieces away before the entirety is infected by this blight. There's much to do, and I play coy to circumstance, fan and flaunt and fangle and fidget, God, I've become so wretched and exhausted by my own delusion. It never seemed that the manic state I employ was by my own volition; I insist that it is not, but then, why do these people caw at me, like I may surface actively, breezing upwards with vitality. No, I think that it is not, and then, I just simply feel so absolutely pass this pass that pass this pass then go in go out. Always these formalities, and then no one to cure them, and it's always her or him or him and her and never the one alone (and once they are alone they dry you and hang you by your shoulders like meat for later); I do try, I do, I do, I do, I do.
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