i’m in a lot of fucking pain

why not? why not say exactly what’s on my mind. because the title of this entry is exactly what’s on my mind. what else. let’s see how real i can get. real as cheese. real as government cheese. real as fucking bed bugs. bed bugs. my bed. bugs me. my bed is like a bowl of gruel. i sunk into it, and tried to get out, but it took a bite out of my left shoulder. there’s a bug in there. yea, i put on the smiths. yes, everything i say is unpleasant. the sky has been dark for days. dreary beyond belief. so and so is mad at me. only cure for that is the cure and leaving so and so alone for god only knows how long. once i waited six months. believe me, man, i think you’re the bees knees. i’d like to get down on my knees, if you know what i knee. what? i mean mean. if you know what i mean, not knee. gnee. gee. gee, i believe, is an article of clothing or clarified butter. i seriously cannot remember. i’ll leave it at that. i won’t google it. “but my faith in love is still devoouuuuttttt,” said morrissey. sigh. i have no idea. i’d like some attention. but i’m too lazy to do a thing about it. god, i could go for a mega dose of attention. but if i tried to get it, i’d only find a “gone fishin'” sign. not phishin’, but actual fishing. i’ve been in this room for hours. i’m not even joking. just sitting here. surrounded by pissing rain. thinking how miserable my house must feel. having all of this rain all over it like this. dripping down to the foundation. a fountain pen. if i used my arms a little more, then i wouldn’t be in this predicament with my limbs all falling off. i’d have some muscle. not like empowerment, but literal strength. fine. avoid me. hate me. be disgusted by me. call me a self-defeatist. you’re totally right, anyway. i’m lonely. pathetic. and kicking my dead horse of a heart. “but that joke isn’t funny anymore. it’s too close to home, and it’s too near the bone…” crooning through this tiny little room full of windows. seems like the drapes are drawn. it’s almost pitch black at 4:05 p.m. that dude, man. he doesn’t realize that a child’s heart cannot… what i mean to say is, i don’t… i mean… like. you can’t. how do i put this? it’s like, a genie in a bottle. you can’t .. or like a ship in a bottle. one of those. it just is, you know? i’m not going to fall out of it. nobody can pry me out. out of what? of wanting to kiss his lips. right. now. 

8 thoughts on “i’m in a lot of fucking pain

  1. The Cure is the best cure. Or the worst, if it brings you down.

    I think your house is happy; it feels wonderful to be covered in rain. Maybe you should go outside and get wet; that will make you feel better.

    It feels better to write it down, doesn’t it?

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