a sudden cascade into the night.
hours under confined florescent lights like the dullest dissection frog.
bursts of color emerge in my voice, but never do they remain.
repetitious requests. a voice overhead calls my name. all to a nullpoint.
we will live elsewhere, we will yearn for more, and in that end, i request, implore myself, to see the best in it.
i yearn formally to be able to talk for hours. create for days. never a moment spent away from my many muses.
head rest to an unfit cushion, a blanket lazily met in its sprawl, the vapid technicolor of Constant Interactions.
i am here. they are there. entombed in a hyper reality, a persona.
where does this end? who will i be?
a massive fucking question mark, engulfed in disgust with deadlines set by no other voice but my own.
i need, i should, i gotta. never a moment for my body to settle and my mind. to rest.