Silly Sensations

I hate feeling this way.

I'm not completely well. I think. I wish I was.

I'm not being coddled the way I want to be. I think. I wish I was.

Listen to me: I'm screwed up.

Listen to me closely: I am at my rope's end.

I'm screwed up and twisted around and completely, completely paranoid.

I want to leave this place. I want to leave. I want to pick up and drive off and never look back. Well, maybe look back. To send Christmas cards and letters. I'm a family-oriented fleshbag, you know.

"I am not here,
I think I’ve never
Been here at all...
Or ever will.
I feel like a place
Where no one goes anymore...

Why can’t you see that everything’s broken?
And why can’t you see that my life’s turned gray?
I can’t believe in anything sacred
When I don’t believe that I am real...

It seems so bizarre,
But none of this matters.
Thoughts disappear and hopes have died.
But now I am safe, nothing can hurt me here --

Why can’t you see my need for forgiveness?
The truth and the lies so confused as one...
I can’t believe in anything sacred
When I don’t believe in anything.

I am alone;
Locked in my memories,
There’s nowhere left for me to hide --
But I am not real,
I’ve made all I am with lies.

Why does it seem that everything’s different?
And why does it seems that only you are real?
I don’t believe in anything sacred --
So why do I feel so damned alone?

I need someone to break the silence,
Screaming in my head...
And in my soul..."

I love you, Stabbing Westward. I love you, Chris Hall. Sing away my aches and pains and leave me in the comfortable furrow of self-pity-paranoia-sticky-guilt-and-sorrow.

I miss you. Very much. "Show me yours..." Now. Why not? I trust you.