Lately I’ve been needing help putting thoughts into my head. Fixated on necessity but the need to organize this existence has been reevaluated and now there’s no need to fill at all. I’ve been stuck for too long and the paranoia is rising. I don’t know what I can do to change—except revert, but there’s a reason I left in the first place. Cold construction, untender affection; it’s cannibalistic design. The silence of death is preferable.
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SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES
PoetryLiminal living; these things are not for the weak of heart.
