How

I like the way that skin has a certain smell, a mix between burning and the sea.

And the way darkness frightens but fills me, how i try to run.

the way i let myself down so many times before, in so many lives, and how a part of me died there.

How ”angst” seems to cover my eyes so i see myself not as i am,

i know who ever looks from these eyes is not me, that each eye and limb and organ belong to a different person.

How my blood is not my own, how i do not belong here.

How my tears are something inside trying to break free, purging itself, my soul slipping free from me, with every drop cried.

How i become transfixed by things i convince myself were suppose to happen, but truthfully know never will.

I hate the feel of icy hands, i hate the way my teeth ache, an ache – hollow and burning.

why is it that even the most passionate of words sound so hollow when they are read back?

They lose their freshnes, become stale and unappealing.

The huge hole blown the the top of my skull leaves my brain feeling open to the cold night air.

I feel like my head is a vacuum sucking in air and stars and dark night atmosphere,

til the pressure behind my eyes is so great i feel i might explode.

The grey cubes and orange lights return and suddenly i feel exhausted, like i need to succumb to some kind of rest,

if at all possible sleep, then the dreams will come again, pictures, pictures, pictures.

xXx