November 29, 2007
by imab&sbookworm on November 29, 2007mirrors haning inches from my face telling me im ugly whispering things fatslugbitchslutuglyUGLYuglymonsterpatheticcuntfreakuglycuntBITCH but when im all swallowed up in spray paint with the fog of the fumes clouding up my brain it all disappears into colors brighter than ever
and during the inbetween time, my fingers just itching, skin just crawling, teeth just gnawing. WANTING. that fucking FEELING, shrouded in acid hue. sick of all the banalities. skipping meals. eating chocolate. and batteries. veins slipping slow beads and bubbles. air pockets. traveling straight to my brain. walking in a coma. feeling useless. like a fatsickcunt full of some boys semen dripping out of me and down my legs. thinking of all those mindless sperm slow-diving their way to my blackred cavern. and feeling brainwashed by pregnant girls and abortion clinics that stick the tube up you and suck it out. and all i want is to be sucked into that tube and flushed away...into nothing. A dead fetus. a lump of lifeless cells with pearls for teeth. and going back into the earth so to be with the grass and dirt and trees. and to get ground up into the pulp that makes paper and become a book and live hidden on a shelf. am i dead? i feel like just one more package one more can of tuna. just a number, a grade point average, a statistic in the u.s.fuckinga. i want to see my ribs like wale bones poking through my skin when i look in the mirror. i want my paint to stay liquid and quit freezing up all the time. im afraid of the cold. it takes the breath from my lungs. its like an empty slap in the face that makes my eyes water even though its like i cant feel it. No feeling. and i've learned so much not just to flick my wrist and mindlessly fill or concentrate hard on highlights getting them just right...all while keeping an eye trained behind me, just in case. no, not just that. ive learned who has the dogs and who keeps them out even in the freezing ass cold who comes out on their porch for a late night cig, the flame glowing orange and dimming softer as they inhale. who has the tv on, the blue light seeping through the window. who comes home drunk, weaving their car all across the road. do they see me? do i look dead? and does he see me when he fucks me, even with his eyes open? or does he think of someone else, whose been before me or who he wants it to be later? does anyone see me? do i look dead? i'm invisible. at night when i crawl across the city's underbelly with a big mean song in my head and a fresh tag under my name. i'm invisible in the daytime when i look at people and no one is looking back at me, just through me. i'm invisible with him in the inbetween time when we are nothing but fingerslegsarmsmouthseyes falling onto warm sheets. we never talk anymore. our arguements used to fuel our passion, now we just take from eachother in silence. does anyone see me? am i real? i dont feel the cold. i fear it without feeling. my fingers are numb. the tip of my nose falls off. my eyes are wax. what do i see? colors projected in flashes. myriads of meaningless kaliedoscopic shit. all without time or place or being. licking batteries just to get the juice out bitter acid gnawing at me from the inside. and of course soaking in fumes so strong my nose wants to bleed. braincells dying left and right and what do i care? i just want my head to be empty so i can't feel. ill just smile like a vegetable forgetting everything and knowing nothing. bliss in ignorance muscles slack and eyes all rolling back...do i look dead?
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