• So it's getting late and I'm sitting here watching my dead clock grow teeth and spit out vulgar words at this angry room. I'm thinking about thinking about thinking about. What I always think about. You know what I mean, but you don't pay any attention to my obvious scribbling across your closed eyelids. I'm standing above you as you dream of piles of garbage devouring the forest. I'm watching as you clench your face and writhe in the middle of your bad dream. I'm jealous. Every moment of my existence is a bad dream. My fingers crawl across the keyboard, searching for a pen. All my pens have burst and spilled their ink across the wall in a pattern only decipherable by you and your subconscious. There are shapes shifting in front of you, everything is melting in front of your eyes so you are closing them once again and watching the flashes of yellow on the inside of your lids as you convince yourself you are alone and safe. But you aren't safe because where am I? Where is me and you on this warm night in July? I'm so young and you're so you're so you're so different. You are mature in every way I am not, and I feel five years old whenever I hear you call my name. I can sit here and wish for all my dreams to come true but what the hell would that do? My dreams are full of dark figures and mistrust and injury. Who would I be to wish for that to become my wakedness as well? I pull the sheet over my head and pretend I am invincible. Sleep comes violently. And don't stop calling, you're the reason I love losing sleep. I am pacing around my room because I am not tired even though it is nearly 7:45 AM and I have not yet slept tonight. I have music playing but it isn't the right song. It is never the right song when it isn't about you. I shut it off but immediately wish I wouldn't have. I settle on Broken Social Scene and go sit on my bed. The beat grows and grows until it is standing in front of me, forcing open my mouth and crawling inside on legs made of snare with bass antennae waving. I lose consciousness and run into a concrete wall of emotion. Life is death is life again. I take the time to look at the new pictures on the updates list. People people people. Where have you been? What have you completed? Nothing? Same here. I recoil at your touch and turn away into a quivering wall of embarrassment. You don't understand, you never do. But that's why you mean so much. What purpose do I give to these speakers? Eat electricity, shit music. Turn the knob to the right and wear the fuzz like my favorite sweater. It is late and I am cold. Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, a drawing of mountains falls out. I cram it onto my wall among ticket stubs from seeing my favorite bands live and pictures from when I had friends I could love and my calendar that has the different star formations on it. Love is love is love is. I stand up and run. The tall tall grass brushes against my fingertips. I take the risk and close my eyes to run blind. There is nothing but flashes of light and dark on my eyelids and the grass against my hands and my feet guiding me so recklessly through the field. I stop and spread my body out on the ground, the sun is warming my skin and maybe even a little bit deeper than that too. I am living and dying and laughing and crying and I am breathing I am breathing and then not.

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