You must restart your computerI thrive on routines:alarms and lists and average means.I often feel I am a shell.Just made of tiny solar cells.Composed of merely matrix code,capable of only single modes:neutral, glad, or self-demeaning,Overloading and blue-screening.I am refurbished, new; upgraded,but old software leaves me feeling jaded.Complex things I must computeCome get me, user, press reboot!
Part Two THE NEWi've written more poetic thingsabout turmoiland my griefbetter metaphors on anger and the urge to find relieffrom the constant nagging in my mindnegating every voice that said i'd finda reasonor a personor that one day this could be true;that i could fit inside that outlinewhile you stared up at the blue;but this time on the sidewalkI found you.
INTO THE WILDi try to rid myself of hate:a survival instinct at its best.for everytime i've felt thatpossibly there was a reason to let down my defense,i've been left less than impressed.cue: a worldwith as little metaphors as neededno 'cavity within my chest'no deeper meaning i've suppressed.i imagine sinking my teeth into some type of still-warm flesh.no justifications of deserving,no feelings of sadness or detest.i am merely an animal; i sit hereand digest.
Housewives LieDid you know I sometimes run myself into the walls to tell people that you watched me fall and all the bruises I sustained, I told visitors you gave meso I'd never feel alone.I did this while you weren't at home. And when you say hello no appologies will make you go.I wish you'd care enough to do this on your own or say "this hurts me more than it hurts you" because its true. and I do everything around here, don't pick up the slack, its nothing new.
Sta.sh
