| The Presumptuous Screen |
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I've let the work pile up on me, let the entirety of things intrude. Honestly, here, I am not being as I would like to be. And it brings me to descent. Rapid and unexpected. It's why I debated not returning, so I could stumble into a centered focus upon myself, upon all the inner cotton that so easily absorbs any reason for melancholy or any way to get hurt or any tickling sound of sadness because I've no time for me and no time for what is is I'd like to do and I'm incredibly tired of not reaching out for words anymore or wrapping myself in finding the most delicate of descriptions or truths. looks like i won't be falling in love this year it's not like i really planned on it beckoning stability as more than a water droplet's soprano giggle would childishly establish therefore i've cupped too many shiny wrappers of hearts in my palms just to laugh like a cold mermaid and send them on their way with the crying air from my lips send them to the ground to flutter like neon aluminum petals and crumble with their armored fragility and i've invested myself emotionally too deeply so now my confidence is in debt in depth i've witnessed too much nothingness too much nature i'm consumed with feeling the sunset sunshine plinking jazz piano fingers atop my back hoping for a jacquard inspiration a marigold revelation of sorts that flirts with imagination so much that the leaves turn their noses up to me and begin to speak in comical accents but it brings me nothing but a rolling rapid heartbeat and an incline for loneliness it's like all this time i've been breathing through a book alone and only i speak the language of the words and the dialogue is loud and echoing like the orange flash rush of swimming through a tunnel my hands rested shaking atop my thighs because the man diagonal a few feet a few seats down turns his head too many times for my own comfort and i can see the fuel in his pupils in the massive midnight-clarity chameleon window and when i rise to leave his chin swings in my direction and my surfaces are involuntarily taken in by his vision and i want nothing more at that time ballet-walking across metal to shriek some shadows into his head the ones he casually tiptoes over and takes for his own underwater greed if in vision or not if in visually commanding his physical will i feel my skin spreading out like sand and stinging openness just as evenly as something melted in the bottom of a pan just spreading to the walls and i gripped my knife pressed its indication and inset grooves hard to the core of my palm hoping to implant its idea of protection into me like a shot for a sour mental disease so he left me after i crossed over to that dark dark side that holds alcoholism and collegiate affairs that process of disgust i've gone through in my head time and time again because i want the vibrant experience and the liquid limbs and the infinite smiles but not this intelligent moral somuchlargerthangeneralizations battle that replays like my favorite song i want to walk without putrid thought like the maniacal and drug-restrained
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