I’m in a turrets like mood were fuck is the only word to describe it
I’d like to slam my head in a fucking door but even apathy is being a twat
When your hairs stand on end it means you’re cold.
I am cold.
I want to thaw and be cold.
And when I am cold I will regret it like so many other things that influence the abstract in my brain. Knowing isn’t believing
Simply... I don’t believe and I wish I didn’t know.
I am burning flowers.
I am burning beautiful.
Without direction and without cause I criticise my own frustration.
I want to shout.
I want to rupture my lungs.
But I don’t want anyone to hear me.
I just want to curse in my own echo.
But why don’t you understand?
My moments of silence are drowned in noise.
Signed your sincere friend.