i like impure thoughts.

last night i fell asleep repeating that same pattern of hum, of song, and i woke with the same hum and song. of that song, that song. i can't get over that wonderful song. you, the reader, render ender, andrew, randrew. that song is tomorrow. sucks in my brain like thin ice that never melts, like that makes any sense.

the sounds of my fingertips against this plastic is actually driving me crazy and the thought of soon is no good no more, it's all ok though.
my eyes are burning, for once i'm not as paranoid as the normal me would be at this time in this place for this reason of always being paranoid, always frantic about aliens none of you believe in and ghosts that i can't see. whatever that is supposed to mean but i know everything about what i believe in and what i allow myself to freak over when i'm bored. like i like the shakes, i like the chills, i like the thumb, i like the pills. i only wanted to rhyme, i do like the pills. by pills i mean pain relievers of the simplest form that never even seem to help these constant continuous terrible never ending pounders you all know a thing or two about, i know more then a thing or two about these thumpers against my skull and temples. don't question my prenunciation of the word skull.

i don't even like this new song anymore, it's no longer tomorrow by the way. this song irritates me.

i should swallow so i can listen to the glorious sounds of my glorious ears popping again and again and again, just as annoying as sitting on bubble wrap. you know i'm only writing this in hopes you'll read it in the morning since i know my blood won't.

when your mind's made up.
whatever. i'm so angry right now. not at you, not at the song. it's ridiculous. my stomach feels funny like someone just lit a fire in the bit of it, like the fire he threw up and caught you all on fire and tried to run away from but was burned alive. i just saw a movie tonight. this blog is a tad more direct then others. like you may have a clue what i'm talking about.

when i cough it tastes like decay. not rot, not dust. but... not blood, not snot. but.. like i'm shriveling from the inside out. i can't see it yet, just taste it. i haven't been able to breath right for three days now. constant uncontrollable coughing with no outcome, no reaction, just useless loss of air that wasn't there to begin with. when i get going i really get going, i mean i can get typing soooo fast, ever so fast. i don't read enough, here i go giving you a clue again. like i really want you to read my mind or something so i make a blog. this isn't even working like it has before.

like warm tears dripping into my hands, into my palms.
i'll write about later which i've already started.
again, the burning in my stomach, it's deeper then normal.

shuffle, read my thoughts on shuffle, i'd like to see you try. you're already too far into my head for me to even write right anymore. i just like seeing right and write together then say it out loud with me right write, say it faster because you know you want to.

again, the taste of disgusting resentful decay in my big mouth filled with big teeth. teeth. teeths. teeths.
bananas.

always asking if you can hear me or see me, getting old isn't it.

i may have figured out what the taste of decay means. old person, getting older as you hold their hand. like i don't taste old person, i taste the taste of someone getting older and as they do they dread each passing minute because they know they're only getting older and older, there aren't even smile lines because they are spending each stupidly wasting minute of being upset being upset.

so the paranoia just kicked in which is weird because the calming sounds of the heater just turned on, i wish i were laying down when i heard it. always means so much more when i try so hard to sleep awaiting the clicking sound that the heater will turn on just moments after and the constant warming humming will lull me to sleep like a baby in someone's arms or the sound you'd expect a womb but don't remember. like adults pretend they don't remember being a naive ignorant teenager who thinks they know it all. why does everyone pretend to forget? like you don't remember being afraid of the ground and balling as your rolled soft legs came anywhere near the grass. the screams would get so much louder as the tips of the green grass touched your skin. like you don't remember throwing up on your cousins face. as if you don't remember passing out in kindergarten. getting smacked ontop the head by your kindergarten teacher and kicking boys in the shin when they chased you around the playground. or letting out cruditis in the bathrooms as you scared yourself with your two best friends, like you'll never forget jacked up teeth and embarrassing moments from then on out. each time your heart beats a little faster then normal, each time your face flushes and blushes getting hotter and redder then when you are simple.
this one is only getting longer.
like every time you trip up the stairs, how it felt on your heart shaped knees if you're normal. like sweaty palms, like butterflies of stomach, like feeling your face getting hotter, like eyelids hot, like running away, like standing still, fingertips, raunch, impure thoughts and animalistic tenancies, you'll notice i make words of my own.

burning continues. i can see it at this point.
decaying tickle in my throat.
tasting.

breathing.
coughing.
breathing.

my eyelids are getting heavier now. this song is only lulling me deeper. i'd like to dream this process but it be true so i can see just how ripe a fruit i really am. like you, like me, like him, like whoever you feel like. whatever. whatever, a taste of each generation you try to hide. like rolling eyes, like misplaced fingers, like adjusting belts, and zrippers. she said zrippers with an extra r. how intentional.