I'm listening to: Keane - We Might As Well Be Strangers

Hello Mister,
You set my eyes on fire. 

I'm listening to: Plain White T's - Anything (Acoustic)

Swirling shades of glue - grey, blue
The Rottweiler vanishes along the corner
Bringing, leaving,
A meandering stench of iron that stretches
Its long trail across millenia of groveling and writhing in
The Dirt dyed colors of strange languages -
Those lost to la mer, that take its hand to spin and dance in frozen breezes.
Petty charms in a dollar-store snowglobe, which
Sparkle is caught and mirrored only in the light of an
Unopened eye.

I think I'm addicted to Salad Fingers.

"Do you not like my mouth-words?"

Help.

I'm listening to: A Rocket From the Moon - Forever and Always

I feel bad. I don't think it constitutes a failure to recognize one's own imperfections but, on the contrary, represents a veiled assertion of some compounded form thereof. Honestly. I thought about it and that's the furthest I got, but hell, it doesn't make it any less nauseating.

What it is to be up against the wall.

The observer has a tough job. Both desire and its antithetic manifestation, born of the same pernicious spawn; - how do they not fight each other to death and kill their bearer in the process?

Hello, I haven't seen you in awhile. I'm sorry I ever decided to throw you away! You looked much better in real life too. I miss you!