a story.
part two of part one
Piss in your bed. It’s a thought i keep to myself when laying
there. Never get up. Never move. Stare into the dark and think about what’s
there. Pretend there’s something else there. Wish there was something else
there. “Hello?”
Now you’re
talking to yourself. But sometimes or probably always i’m always talking to
myself, even to other people because when i look at other people i try to see
me even if it’s just there only a little bit. It’s not vanity or maybe it is,
but either way i just want to feel like other people. Maybe i’m looking for
them in me. This is silly.
Breathing
is really loud and almost intrusive. Notice that when you breathe, half of that
action is poison or food for trees. (That’s right i think. Grade school was a
long time ago). Blow out bad air into other people and watch them cough or give
you weird looks. That’s how i want to die though, suffocating on the air of
someone else. Though, i don’t think my lungs would swell if someone was going
to die because of it. That’s selfish of me.
Outside,
there’s an orange street light. It’s painting my wall and i think it looks kind
of nice. When you look at something too long, it starts to stay in your
eyeballs. Rent free. My eyes are sliced by light and my mind’s tongue is
licking the cut. It happens over and over again, and i try to look away from
the light because staring is impolite and even though my head is hiding the
light is still there like the apathetic ghost of, you know something/someone
you care about or whatever. Slurp slurp. Brain-tongues.
The light
is pretty nice still, even if it doesn’t care about my breath. Although it’s
pretty loud and annoying, i think i’ll keep breathing because it lets me know i’m
still a person like everybody else and i can’t keep looking at other people for
myself because to do that i need to get close and i don’t want people to
breathe my bad air.
Oxygen
tanks for Christmas/Birthdays/Valentines.
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