I am freewilled and I am sick. The monster "Erased" fills in the lines again.
I am clinging, clinging on for dear life.
Tip, me in the wrong direction and I go
Flying
into oblivion.
Like a furious, delicate beast
I roam rapid.
I am slipping away like the sound that fills the space for thought.
I am teetering on my reminiscent oblivion.
One spark, I catch fire for the rest of my journey home.
Mind numbing, frozen, tingling.
Shut up!
Why can't it just shut up?
I am done trying to make me, me.
It's too exhausting.
I am spent and then recharged like a credit card.
Fuck you!! Stop using me, my heady corporate American nightmare.
But I am-(don't you dare say it) "fine"
I can never tell anyone how unfine I truely am.
I can't even tell myself.
I am ill informed about the matter.
I am sick again though I posses the cure.
A paradox!
A fuckin' lonesome paradox.
I think I think too much
but if I stop thinking
I stop being, stop being able to
pass as "fine" in my boxed up head driven nightmare
