innsjo

the rain is really cold its numbing my skin the music of it i want to die. crippled by today.. i couldn't make it through. so much regret. to see you cry was too much. it didn't feel real. nothing does. i'm lost in a fog that never goes away so dizzy, i can't take it a monster tied me to my house and i can't feel my body the sirens are deafening me every movement hurts inside i can't stand the sensation of existing

we are walking while it snows cottonseed, or something like that, but around me it's a  black & white movie flat and flatter, until the awareness kicks into right under the skin of my face and i start to radiate a type of magnified aura that has no color but also has every color. we ate a lot of honeysuckle flowers there is that nectar, concentrated so sweet to my mouth, so warm, to experience it and forget. what a shame it is to discard the rest, the un-eaten part, letting it float from our fingers to the ground. then i see no more color but the lingering earthy spring sweet causes my eyes to receive reds and yellows and every one of

i am lost in an unknown world invisible field of ponds surround me, i throw stones in them... all the buildings in my internal consciousness begin to fall crashing on my body, but its numb no one is there, and i begin to set little fires everywhere and press myself against the cold window, staring at the colorless street rain and tears, hiding them i threaten myself with many knives one after the other, not sure screaming at no one, why is this happening why can't i fix it. or feel it. rip my mouth and skin and everything, stab over and over all in my mind. all is well, but it isn't i begin to throw myself at the walls and railings bruising

sealed voice, i attend a bus ride. head against the cold window. bumps bang my skull sharply against the glass. sharply. staying away from the furnace that cut me. no one sees. where is the foundation. where are the clean guardians. my mouth is roughly stitched together when it comes down to the wounds and the bruises. the infiltrated mind. the horrible photos that circulate inside my mind that i can't reach, but i want to reach them, i want to grab them and burn them. i want to replace them. but there is no way, there is no magic in that realm. i wonder and discover that no drug or no amount of cutting or stabbing, there isn't a way. there i

high-- sen-- sa-- tive.-- un-- der-- my-- skin.-- wai--ting--for--you.-- your--eyes--pierce--mine.-- cold-- air-- froze-- mine.-- ...gla--cial--scle--ras.-- dis--tant--stare--offs...-- un--der--i--ris.-- pur-- ple-- fee-- lings.-- don't--you--real--ize.-- what--false--good--lies.-- sha--tter--our--ties.-- sha-- tter-- my-- eyes.--

    A boy floated unconscious in a sea of blank nothingness. All of the order had been shattered, everything had shifted out of place and chaos ensued. However, the boy had drifted off somewhere. Somewhere familiar yet unfamiliar, somewhere newly fabricated by the depths of his mind. This is before the hope, before his new life began. This was the negative place, where we all go--although from different paths.    As his eyes slowly opened, he became aware of the bland space he was floating through. As soon as he realized this, a world began to materialize around him. An endless, rolling field of glossy, transparent glass complete with trees

i wrote down everything the voice said. i wrote down the cuts it wanted me to cut. i wrote down the burns it wanted me to burn. i wrote down the names it called me. i wrote down what it wanted to do to me. i wrote down the past. i let the voice write through me. i told it to stop. i filled the page. it filled the page. i went outside with the paper in one hand. i went outside with a bowl made of aluminum foil. i went outside with a lighter. i went outside, where it's cold and dark. i went outside at night. i tried to light the paper. it caught fire. the fire slowly consumed the crumpled up paper. i watched it turn to black on the foil bowl.