It's like a sickness, a horrible sickness that creeps up and bites, and kills.
The cure is a complex mathematical equation that runs on for forever.
The trap is a separate dimension, with locked doors and windows and all the acid demons.
I sit there, in a zone I despise, so uncomfortable with the people that surround. All parasites. Watch the seagulls lunge at the pigeons, thieving bastards. And it's all fun and games 'til the Crow comes.
Watch myself deteriorate under thick circumstances. Pretend to breathe. It's okay. You're fine, baby.
And suddenly I'm pouring confessions to beings little more than strangers, barely acquaintances, and they tell me I'll be fine, they have my back, they understand, I'm sane and healthy, perfectly normal, functioning perfectly. They tell me they love me, and at that moment I fall back and feel my fists clench at my side as they repeat the same bullshit as the one before them.
Like commercials, nobody really cares, they play so furiously on repeat. Taking up half your time, someone's money, someone's fucking life. Parasites. Commercials.
It had to be screamed, though it has/had nothing to do with the matter at hand, and I don't give a shit about terrorism. I'm not sure.
It's beautiful. He's beautiful. The cards told the truth, held hope. Past: Ran away from something terrible. Present: Reformation. Future: 'I will'.
He's mine. The jealousy, as he walked away with her after I'd been sitting in the black hole we call a park for half a day, waiting for him. It was intense, I couldn't cope with this cruelty, injustice.
But here I sit, listening to society break down and I feel it's time the world started a riot.
You think you're making sense, but all I hear is 'maaaaaaa'.