Seaweed

I'm not allowed to eat seaweed because of fucking radiation in Japan. So, I improvised. Have currently hidden massive box of yummy seaweed packets under my bed and frequently sharing with my feline friends. What now, bechez??

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ghdjfk

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Ugh.

Having a really bad fucking day. Or week. What difference does it make. I refuse to include a question mark there for the sole purpose of not really giving a shit about who answers it, assuming that anyone would -___-

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blah

I feel that strange sense of coldness again. No, I'm just not entirely sure what I feel. I dont FEEL anything. Things are starting to slow down, my energy is dropping, and each breath is exasperating. Anger and sadness compact and triumph over all odds while I'm left here to think... my god, I hate thinking. It merely prolongs the sickness of mental decay. And I'm sooo fucking miserable, I dont even know why. You're all probably laughing at me, too. Couldnt I at least have a plausible explanation as to why my mood swings seem to get the best of me? Give me a fucking reason to mope about while my years are slowly crumbling. I want to at least know what I'm crying about -__-

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I would really rather not have friends at this point. Each friend is a liability. A fragile piece in my unraveled and frayed thread of life. Quite frankly, a mere cause for disruption. And when it shifts, you're forced to move with it! It drags you along on its journey...its very unpleasant journey -___- I hate people.

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For an instant
I am of two.
An eerie enclosure
Of which time stands still.
Idle if only for a while.
Within the slip of a beat,
An unseen face,
Washover feeling of dread...
And within a glance
Merely a fleating sense
I've risked it all. And slipped.
I've slipped from reality.
Falling so deep...
Never far from this entrapment.
And yet,
The beating of a heart stands idle and constant.
The slamming,
The cracking,
The tearing of warm flesh.
A piece of me stands idle and constant.
And within that same beat
Muscles clenched,
Head spinning within a skull,
I've risen and forgotten.
Eyes set alight with humor
And passion.
For that was only a thought.
An idea burried under my skin.
Repressed
Restrained
Restricted.
Bound and controlled
Within the darkest chasms of one's being.
Held together by tortured flesh
And damaged minds.
Merely a thought.
Or so it would seem.

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I have an obsession for dead flowers.

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