just a heap now of gristle and bone and ventricle. just an idea; a memory.
once again, let’s play a game: how many lives do you get on this level? how many times can you lose to the same bad-guy before you realize it’s just you, dressed up, defeating yourself again and again?
how many times can the same scream echo before it becomes an echo of itself, before it becomes inaudible to anyone but you? assuming it didn’t start out that way in the first place, that is.
how long until you stop fighting the demons and just invite them in, make up the guest bed, offer them a cup of tea…
when the edges get blurry I’m the kind who fights to retain the meaning before it succumbs to the obscuring fog. today I’m too tired. today I’ve lost the will to be the only, only, only one who still sees something to fight (for).
maybe I’ve been wrong all along.
tell me a story, tell me you’re sorry, tell me we all feel this way sometimes. tell me the world is ending, if you mean it. tell me anything (true).
anyway, didn’t you get the memo? all the rules are broken now.