s r i

it's starting to smell so overly stale and used yet again, like old memories i buried deep in my heart so they never surfaced again, and a weird sort of warmth on my body that i associate with deep confusion and dire red signs of alert, this is not me. or this is me, but i cannot comprehend my body, my brain in such a setting as that on the canvas of life. and days have grown hotter, so has my head. i'm still guarding my mind so it doesn't break, my heart so it doesn't break again. if writing this changes anything, i could use a cool breeze of visible moving change in the hung, slowed down summer day of life.

there is this persistent weird ache in your head and you think what do you deserve? or what did you do to deserve. you're sort of terrible. but it's okay. the feeling will pass with the day. and you'll be clean of the sin of revelation of your true (SOME, ANY) self heavy on your mind.

get better

when i say listening to this one song takes me back to last year, i'm talking the vivid picture of yearning and waitwaitwait heavy on top of my chest, sweet noises in my ear, and hope so wild i let myself be naive again (it was not worth it). a day before, what i write was recognized again, it was about you but i won't give you the satisfaction. i am not talking of you. only a figment of my imagination, that is what the evening descending upon my weak, weak heart was. i miss her more than you but am i allowed. oh well. i wound up here again. i cry about it once again in words so i will get over it. but it was sweet them, too. maybe i wouldn't have talked about it so much. i really love this song. but i can't listen to the artist the same way anymore. this, it's like winter nostalgia and deep yearning to go back in time to feel the warmth of my own smile on my face. if it doesn't happen it is fine, october still will be here. is it the song or me? [for a fortnight.]

is olding or death better when you compare them?

is it just me or really, looking at a greyish blue morning sky remind you, that oh lord, there's an infinity of worlds and existence and l i f e in general, and you're really here, so gifted; there is everything and anything i can do. all that limits me is the time left til my school bus arrives. i will be everything when i grow up (which is soon.) isn't february the sweetest month for dreams? i will be everything.