It feels like self harm but towards my mind. I inject this grotesque media, force myself to feel miserable, force feed myself this injustice, gore and meaningless violence, and for what? I force myself to view the most grotesque media possible just to stir my brain into that sweet, dark oubliette where I can feel nothing else but the own churn of a familiar nausea that lulls me into a waking daydream.
I partake in this wretched cycle as that moment is the only few where I feel present in my body and when I can focus on those latching thoughts of cross over beyond the horizon. Launching myself over my own sunset and reaching for the nebulas beyond it like some opposite asteroid.In those moments of pain I hold no responsibility but to suffer and writhe in discomfort. I am no body but a mass of disturbed flesh, even for that moment until again I must be alive within myself.
I've disguised my living world in a haze of my deepest daydreams lathered with the anatomy of myself and it is rotting. I no longer can wake without the low waft of my actions.
YOU ARE READING
you won't get what you want
PoetryRamblings and such. A continuous sob, witness a creature trying to understand whats it's like to be human
