proclivity to reenact feelings;
i hear the same voices go round and round and round an
d as it seems, they are not what's left
of the future that i've already seen,
mor e like a pi(un)cture already hung on the wall
i can't-
and i won't-
take down
(so i gotta paint these walls around it so as to pretend we're fine)
neurotic chaos
is so empty
it drains
the blood out of my fucking
life.