Going Normal

I can’t find myself lately exceptindreams, dreams like iron weighingdown on what I see. I’ve been dis-inherited from life as long as I’ve known Earth. I can cross my legs and pout my snout, but what is, Is – and what I am is Not. I don’t know how toaccept that – I have lived as mediocre, and so it has been proven true that I am mediocre and mundane as my deepest fears and still warn and name against them.
I am a soft, weak tissue of the body who has no purpose – like the appendix or the pancreas or the heart that has become mine: an afternoon snack when the stimulants and weed have finally caught up to you. And you are so hungry with rain for eyes without explanation of why – I, myself, am an alibi for the unachieved beauties of the imagination. The degradation, your imagination, is your heart and I’m so lonely I could eat it for dinner, and more.
I’m still hungry, hungry. I could it eat for dessert, too –

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