the acid equilibrium is back again and unpleasant guts churn up unpleasant thoughts: ask yourself: how did i get here? would it take a subzero gun barrel pressed to your cheek, tears oozing down metal as you speak, to see that life's not life if you're not living it? the lump in my throat tells me you're wrong, like a neon street sign that a satellite could see from the stellar sea.

it must be invisible to their eyes, they have sight but cannot (will not?) see.

swell and explode in slow motion, it won't change a single fucking thing.

you knew this would happen.

i'm painfully shedding my skin, piece by piece, bit by bit, cell by cell, and the underneath is cowardly pale and maggot-eaten. doesn't look so nice now, does it? blood, sweat, shit, and tears, it's all the same to me. after all, we eventually crap out everything we take in.

9 to 5 is suicide, hope to die by 25. they'll ignore it.

the letter e is the prom queen, try to live without it. can you or can't you? nothing would mak sns. h is hr and sh is h. you s?

it's difficult right? so am i. difficult, no. right, no. it, yes. i am it and it is me. you see?