Lars visits me. I send him away as he leaves some bestseller. I can the content.
Hug, smile, brief encounter, graphic scene, break up and another one.
Love is from one relationship to another.
It irritates me.
The whole hinting, that I must forget as I get more liquid poured into my body, through that small hole in my vein moisturizing my blood, giving me more chemicals as if I don’t have enough thank you for the contaminated air.
I thank her after she’s gone mentally in my head.
But then what for? This gives me fucking nothing, my throat gets worse up to the point that I consider myself dead. I wonder how many people will actually be at my funeral, how many will grief and how many will spit at my tombstone.
But then I’m not worth it.
I look at the wires stuck to my hand and soon enough the beeping machine making sure that I don’t die, staining their reputation with my teenage blood.
I stare at the beeping machine as its beeps go louder and louder. I cover my ears irritated by the beeps. I kick the wires from my hand yanking the needles in the process results a wound to open. I stand up nearly hysterically, heavily breathing from the drug injected to my system.
What if I wasn’t human, what would I do then?
What if I was a cheese cracker? Would I get dunked in milk, because I'm different?
Of course I was bloody human. I bled like one anyway. I've seen it, maybe someone had filmed it, the real thing. Then I’d have blue blood or whatever. I stare at how my body shakes lacking the warmth coming from my covers and the wounds and my skin drenched in my inner liquid. I grab a tissue and press my palm against the wound.
And I press the red button above my bed.
Daydream Fifteen
Hug, smile, brief encounter, graphic scene, break up and another one.
Love is from one relationship to another.
It irritates me.
The whole hinting, that I must forget as I get more liquid poured into my body, through that small hole in my vein moisturizing my blood, giving me more chemicals as if I don’t have enough thank you for the contaminated air.
I thank her after she’s gone mentally in my head.
But then what for? This gives me fucking nothing, my throat gets worse up to the point that I consider myself dead. I wonder how many people will actually be at my funeral, how many will grief and how many will spit at my tombstone.
But then I’m not worth it.
I look at the wires stuck to my hand and soon enough the beeping machine making sure that I don’t die, staining their reputation with my teenage blood.
I stare at the beeping machine as its beeps go louder and louder. I cover my ears irritated by the beeps. I kick the wires from my hand yanking the needles in the process results a wound to open. I stand up nearly hysterically, heavily breathing from the drug injected to my system.
What if I wasn’t human, what would I do then?
What if I was a cheese cracker? Would I get dunked in milk, because I'm different?
Of course I was bloody human. I bled like one anyway. I've seen it, maybe someone had filmed it, the real thing. Then I’d have blue blood or whatever. I stare at how my body shakes lacking the warmth coming from my covers and the wounds and my skin drenched in my inner liquid. I grab a tissue and press my palm against the wound.
And I press the red button above my bed.
Daydream Fifteen
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