I'm there and I'm not. Something awful. Something lost. The scratches and the bruises that we shared. I love and I don't. I'm lost and i'm not. I am and I disappear. And stuff get in the way. Old organs from the deep. Fresh desires of the light. And I lurk around doing my best to top the others, the clowns and priests alike.
je suis là sans y être vraiment. près du dégoût, près des cicatrices. celles que nous partageons et que j'aime sans aimer. je suis là et je disparais, sans savoir si je me perds dans le processus. depuis longtemps j'ai abandonné les vieux organes pour embrasser la lumière, mai
i'm at the end and i want to forget the roller coaster of insecurities. my parents are looking at me, but they have lost their eyes in the last storm. when love is blind it feels cold, insensible to what i can be. underwater and attacking everything. feeling that oxygen is the enemy. in my head, there are unnamable things. (i wanted to write monsters, but i'm afraid to be a monster so i don't write it. and i'm trying to show control over this idea by telling you about it.)
at this point, i feel like taking the hate and the disdain. mine or yours or theirs, i don't care. i'll feel it, munch it and feed on it for weeks. coals and diamonds. sti