i have trouble believing that i exist for others when i'm not in their immediate universe. when i am not speaking to them or standing in front of them, i can not believe that they think about me. i am in denial about my own existence - i don't think you have a mental picture of me. i can't picture it. i wouldn't have one. not of me. i can't imagine i exist for anyone who i'm not conversing with.i am skeptical when people tell me they were thinking about me. 'really?', i ask. my eyebrow lifts, slightly. i couldn't always do that. but i can, now. i can do many things, but really nothing that amounts to very much. never could, never will. turned around words are sometimes more meaningful than what we say. celebrate opposite day. assume everything is backwards, down to up. see where it gets you.
you see the words, they form a train that flows through your brain, a river of thought that is either a trickle or a rage, but never nothing. everything is something. Crash.
i am worried. about many things. do you know that? did you know the number of the house was written in white? did you notice the red? probably not. i did. i always do. the inconsequential fascinates me. it is so forgotten, so pushed aside that i can't help but believe that there is a secret hidden within it somewhere where no-one bothers to look. in my universe the unexpected carries salvation, and the real punch line is that it's not even hiding, you just don't know how to look. they say that seeing is an instinct, you cannot explain sight to the blind. but it isn't - because you see only those things that you're used to seeing. the challenge is seeing things that you would not.

is that so difficult to believe? that we're wrong? we're young, or so they say. isn't everyone old?

it's quiet. i love you. but you're always quiet when the world comes crashing down, again.

when you close your eyes, what do you see?

they say its a nervous breakdown, but whats a breakdown? i mean, how do you tell? is there a line crossed, an i left undotted? as we walk, to and from, this way, there, and here - how do you tell? can you magnify my soul, because i think im getting smaller as we get bigger. can you see through my clothes, skin, flesh and bone? and when you do, do you feel, or do you merely see?

everyone's breaking down. we are in a constant state of death. so really, when i say that everytime i talk to you i die a little inside, i'm not lying. is that not comforting? sad. it seems it should be. they always said the truth was important. somehow.

they also insisted on transparency. but can you really make your skin see-through? are you able? i can't move. i am unable. or perhaps just un.

walk, talk, breathe. can't hum, don't have it in me. can't tap because i lost you. can't sing - got no soul. no soul. nosoul. luoson. the words still carry no meaning, even if you twist them and turn them, love them and lose them.

tell me, do your fingers know what it is to have memories? instinctively searching for that hollow, for that sensation. we are all sense-based creatures. we are drawn to things. hot, cold, touch. feel.

somehow from one moment to the next we never seem to realize how much things remain in flux. everything becomes - tainted.

everyone's got a little death inside them.

for psnob.

anarchy says:
for some sonrea
wheres says:
hah, all good things come in disconnected packages?
wheres says:
hah, thats not even backwards
anarchy says:
backwards is cliche
anarchy says:
im not backwards, im broken. not same.
wheres says:
and oddly looks like a cross between that disease and sonic of the supersonic fame