living in a glasshouse (she keeps all heads calm, the icemachine pays off, plentyful. do your thing)

i am pleased. somewhat.
i'm cold, hungry and depressed all of the time i spend being awake. feeling selfdestructive. the only path i know now. yes, i've spent many an hour walking up and down to that mill that is my head.
i am curious, but only when i'm half asleep. half awake. i seek this state at all costs, but it shrinks with an audience.
blissfully aware of things to come, not so much.
my hair growing longer is the only way that enables me to see what time really is, that it really does pass and haven't given up on me entirely - it still kills in the end and i long for the moment when that very end comes close enough to engulf my diseaseridden soul.
knit a buttercup, cook them all. birds are excellent builders and mushrooms cling to their tasks. i admire their courage, their spirit and mindset, their ambition and mission.
step away from the microwave and set the alarms to reset. replay. rip. tear. flare and don't care. step away, just be careful. noone cares, but be careful.

keep your head in the fridge but resent from eating. hollow despair and transparent problems. i see through the essay of your life, the stories make no sense. they come in no order, but i sort of sort them all out. stuff and stack, play with cheerful expressions. be the change you want to see and reap the benefits of good health. not anymore, noone cares, but be careful. you're a part of the gang now, you're a part of the pack. you're a part of the plan, take nothing back.

horses complain but cease to do so when under the spell of your commands. be assertive, i'm ready to swollow it all.

clash into my spirit and regret the day you became concious.
age kicks you in the face and drags you by the ear. our very existance laughs so loud and takes us nowhere new. your ticket has no value, it's all done for. complain, but be gentle. take care.

and most important of all things:
don't get any
         big ideas