Life has hanged for long before this dream. But I held control over it. I pushed on one side or the other to keep it balancing. Always from side to side. Sometimes a glimpse of moving forward. But I always knew it was a dream inside a dream. Never took me long to gather the hints and make up the truth.
There's no control now. And the dream has faded away as if it never even existed. It was only just slightly burning and I offered my oxygen as fuel for it to grow. To grow back to it's previous glorious shape. But there's no control now for this is not a dream. And life hangs indeed but by a thread. And long have I stood face to face with it and mocked it's fragility. Enjoyed not living for it meant not dying. Deception is the cave I've hidden myself in for years and ever.
Life waltzes in slow motion around me. Around a shape that resembles in some ways a person. What am I besides a. Besides a. I'm a. Just a. Nothing more then a.
nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
Socks. Boxers. Don't need a razor. My black jumper's dirty with toothpaste. Need to wash that. I need, god what do I need? I need jeans that don't have fucking holes in them. He would laugh at it though. Maybe a button shirt or two. Which jacket? I don't even wear the black one that much. Books, perhaps. I don't know if I'll be in the mood for it. Although, Sartre has always been good at capturing my attention and it would be good to think about something else. Fucking chicken. I don't know. What do you pack for a funeral anyway?
No comments:
Post a Comment