it's raining again!

sleep it off-
you'll need a big old radio in the morning
and a few good loaded broad men.
to awake y-o-u.
rip of her hair,
cut off her tounge,
curse all her stranded life
scream at her unclear histeria.
kill all of them.
perhaps it's a bit out of question-
despite all, it's just a social convention
that i should bare.
that's why- i'll sleep it off till morning.
so she will tell us then, how crazy we all are.
how so useful and wonderful she is.
how ungrateful you really are!
so it won't burn my cheap eyes out. i'll just nod it out.
and when you feel like smashing his head against the wall.
when you feel like breaking all his fingers-
and crushing them.
it's obvious he's been going around toying with us all.
spreading about his sweet-sour toxic something.
don't panic, i fell for it myself- all of it.just, smile it out.
don't use words you have no meaning for-
don't curse doors without ears.
what's wrong is not within their circles and angles,
it's you- over and over.
:

it sits around with a little whistle in
singing peacefully, and slightly out of rythm-
thuds of the sweetest quality.
It isn't strong-
thirty minutes and it blacks out-
thirty minutes, and it feels like caving in.
it's an endless maze.
where doors carry you to wrong places.
and though it doesn't matter in the end-
it makes me love it so much more.

It’s a little beast you see-
It dies young, eats stones, and cries crome-
And it’s not that I don’t like it- it just scares me a bit.
I’ll miss it when it’s gone, eventually forget it, and then embrace it madly-
when It comes back again.
I have a friend who hates thinking,
Because it drives him to tears every time.
I have a friend who pats things,
because it makes him feel nice.
i have friends who can't help their tounges,
and spill out others souls,without conscentment.
i have friends who need hot baths,
to study...
Would you look to like, within all these scared little principles?
These manic impulses; the cryptic hysteria; the mild tourette’s?
People are so strange you see, so precious, and sick.
Despite all the blabbering, I think it’s sweet
Collecting little branches, I mean.
Thinking to tears,
cuddling in the protection of defenseless fabric.
Being the spotlight.
Being in the dark.
I like all of that. And despise it, every time.

burn.