Yeah, the resounding riffs and resonance of the music I play in place of something, anything that would replace my terrible keening, the while that scrapes itselfway from my voice. I can't breathe. I can't look in any direction without seeing myself.
I'm howling. The music masking the terrible sound of my futile, pathetic suffering.
And I dance. I feel the sounds make my body move and I'm not aware of the pulse as my legs and arms and neck and moves and moves and no one can hear the tears in my voice.
You don't understand what it is to fight and lose against the vision of phantasms. To sit in your own pool of madness and chokehold your way to an existence that god fuck you there is no choice but to adopt. Yes, I must.
You're right. I'm sick. I'm the one who cannot see or be what I'm supposed to be. The bar isn't even one I can see. Mother fuck it's worse by your claim of validity. You're right.
You're right. I'm the freak. I'm the one who's not seeing how it should be. I'm the one who's broken. You're the one who can see how it should be. Fuck me, I'm stupid.
I can't figure out if I'm supposed to vomit, if I'm supposed to die. If I'm supposed to end your suffering. I'm going to fight it. I'm going to know what I'm to do. I love you and that very love is what's poison to you.
Nothing will stop me. Nothing. It's the nothing that cannot stop me. I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Posted by Matt at December 22, 2007 01:16 AM