Death Wishes

We all have our own version of bad hair days… And sometimes, the hair isn’t the root of all evil.
Such a squirrel description.

***
How many specters and phantoms do you have?
I have plenty – just innumerable.

It’s a good thing I’m able to help other people, for the sake of doing something that Jess’d love and be happy about. Lately, I have dedicated most of my time to the journal and debate that I rarely have time for him. He knows keeping myself unwearied – moreover, long-suffering – is rare to my current daylight collection.

Yet I just fancy breakages nowadays.

***
Just had a “pious” conversation with a BS Psych friend.
Despite and inspite of my psychotic tendencies, those are but instinctive and normal after all.
The death wishes had their rational reasons, no matter how perverse they are. Heh.

I’m enlightened by those people who value my perplexity. You see, in a world where most things are liberal and unconventional, you can’t do much if you’re bashed. It’s part of our nature to do those after all.

I enjoy both my bafflement and indifference. I wonder what it’s like for you.
I seldom hear people actually savoring the sight of a blood-painted hand.
I, on the other hand, would adore its faulty shadows.

Words are my weapons, my guns; each letter, a bullet waiting to be shot and pronounced in unfilled air. That’s why I would never draw such closeness that would keep fires frozen and judgments mystified.
Look at me when you’re afraid… Don’t worry, we both are.

I’m mortified for having myself all drawn out in decks and sands. In lips and rains.
In golds and blacks.
Most of the time, it leaves me wondering where I had left my innocence and my empathy. They’re all swollen, if not eaten up by maggots. I really do not know how else to make people know and understand. Dammit.

So which sends you to fondle my anxieties and my aggressions?

Leave me be. Just do, but
Just always come back.