I have been dusting over this. I sat and tried to grab hold of the light that reflected off my hands last night, fully aware that it didn't exist and trying to catch it out. Because that would prove? I'm not quite sure. So I sat and this non existent liquid light filled up my hands and jumped between them trying to distract me from my reading. And it tried and tried, but I kept watching and trying to catch it out, but it was all in my head, every particle of the bending syrupy light was of my own imagining and I couldn't quite believe that I believed it. It kept jumping between my hands. My insides are bending up, aching to curl and aching for the parts that are missing. I am boring I am sad. I keep searching for the things that don't matter. I want all the stuffing, all the words, spilling out of my head, scratched into my brain, stencilled under my eyelids and tattooed on the fringe of my intelligence, etched into my conscience and consciousness I want them all to mean something, I want it to be filled with theories, with languages, with music and something intelligent, I don't want to be a bundle of mess or festering fears and paranoia and aching. People were blurry today and I felt sure at every turn it was you, that someone looked up just like you did, and I was aching so much, that I thought I smelt you and I felt worse. I'm sorry I can't be perfect, I'm sorry I'm too broken. I don't understand why you can't see through me, why can't you see through me? I don't deserve it, I can't do. But I don't understand why. I am too selfish. Shout shout shout, it makes me want to curl up and sleep for days. I want to wake up and see you there, I want you to make this effort, or just; rescue me, please. It's all I've ever been crying out for. I hate myself for presuming you should, because I have this self-righteous feeling deep down that someone has to. Why do I deserve that? I don't deserve that at all, I don't, I've just convinced myself I can't do this by myself. I just want something all consuming, but maybe it isn't possible. I don't think I can be prepared to admit there are other things in life then. I am selfish, I never get tired of saying it, I'll stop realising how true it is. I can't seem to change anything. I'm living in this moment all the fucking time. I want everything to be just how it was, just how it was supposed to be. But I'm so scared everytime I talk to you that you won't want anything to do with me.
It isn't fair. Am I only angry because you refused to look after me? How can I blame you for that?

'he thinks he is free, but he is everywhere in chains'

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending: