(no subject)

Feb 25, 2005 16:29

Static dreams and your biggest fears being whispered through the telephone. Magazine clippings all about the same thing, taped under your chair. You’ve become a little bit of everybody because you couldn’t develop your own personality. Ideas, thoughts, goals, all processed and fabricated, 0% real fruit juice. A broken identity and you’re falling into pieces, shards of glass… cut, blood, death. How bizarre. Lip movements and no coherent sound just heavy breathing, from a day’s work… your boss yells, your ears hurt, you hate the fucker in the cubicle next to you, you hate, you hate… Complicate yourself, keep busy, the only way to live. Wake up, work, school, home, nap, dinner, shower, sleep, wake up… Wake up… You hear echoes of sentences you should have never said and laugh.
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