I hate the wind

There's a goodmorning vibe in the way they - she? - stirs the creme into her coffee. Too bad it's 3pm and I've been awake all day and all the previous night and all fucking week for all anybody knows. This isn't a likely place for me to be, with the sidewalk cafes and the trendy shops and the young girls that walk around without having to think about living or working for anyone else in their life. 

I wonder if they - she? - knows what I'm thinking. Clever lipstick smile, clever smiling eyes, clever Lucifer peeking out from under her skirt.. or is that the wind? They - she? - know(s) what I'm thinking. They - she? - can sense it like some vulture smelling out a rotting carcass. Her delicate high heeled shoes strategically reveal her delicate ankles, and her skirt the beginning of her thighs. Those muscles and her skin are unbearably suggestive, though she herself is not. But I'm not tempted. Even if she were eager, I'm not tempted. 

There's a - in the - and over the - is something and they like to see me, stop now? 
Something to do with the wind. 

Have you ever been as suspicious as you are of me now, girl? Did you know that I'm a young woman, just like her? Or are you sure that I'm a young man? An old man? Sometimes I switch between characters, like in dreams and things. Trade a purse for a wallet and then for a pocket full of change. I'm all of them, everybody. 

You don't have the secrets you think you do, 
because I know them all. I wrote them all. 

Goodmorning to the girl stirring her coffee at 3 pm, goodmorning to all the girls on this boulevard. Ever wonder what the wind thinks when he caresses your hair and limbs and face? He doesn't think about you, that's for sure! So you shouldn't worry too much about him either. 

Losing faith in myself and my ability to think rationally

I don't want

I don't feel like

Anything, I don't know. 

I'm underwater, but it's not nice. I've been thinking that maybe... I've got it all wrong. 

But I can't seriously believe that I do. I believe in my thoughts... this stupid strand of nothings that may lead to the ultimate nothing... or the ultimate something. 

Whatever.

But the point is,

I'm probably not that important.

None of this shit is that important RIGHT NOW. But maybe later.

I need to get out of here, and let my days blend and let myself waste a bit.

Those times are always the most inspiring. I never knew what time it was but my very BREATH was profound and earth shattering. 

I want to strew papers, write on walls, topple furniture, and smash lightbulbs and sit around in the dark and have no idea what the FUCK I'm doing. 

That's the plan.

The plan is to go absolutely insane and live like I might die every second. The plan is to live like shit, but to really live. Or to not live at all. To die. To be dead to everything around me. Everything is false. 

But then, there is something thats real.

There's two somethings that are real... maybe three. 

One, Two, and the exchange between One and Two

is really, REALLY real. The realest I've ever come across. 

And One can't go off without Two, because then Three would be missing, and the whole trio would fall apart. 

I can't even believe in myself anymore. 

I can't believe in One. But Two, and the exchanged Three... I can believe in those. 

<3

edfhgoqhurgjherd !

Scratch my eyes out with a broken bottle, keep digging until you get to my brain.

Smash my skull and SET ME FREE

Or maybe you'll send me to just another prison.