i am constantly starving you see ( i see )

because i have grown selective in my cravings (well and at least so ignorant of them)

different

these narratives they can barely interest me, and these minimally

well, lets just say, it

what is the reason I cannot pick up a cheap book (of the genre romance, and no longer fantasy, no longer)

wait a minute, let me turn the world upside down, or maybe inside out

inverted

would it fall just as flat?

the rarity of the stone defines its worth

but chocolate’s always more delicious than broccoli even if you had no broccoli to compare it with

which is it? (oh stupid, it’s always always more gray than anything everything)

starving starving, gnawing on dry bread and scouring the net for

(i remember the moment, the exact moment i chose the plastic woman over the plastic man to be my hero -soon after another plastic man joined her as her other, because after all then i could have both)

it has everything to do with it (it’s called puberty i think. just mental)

i think it’s the mystery (after all you’re never finishing that series.) it’s something specific. but oh i don’t know what. (really?)

not just a break from clichés -oh such a vicious circle- but also something inevitable (it seems likely from the evidence) stemming from-?

anyway. it bothers me. it’s got to do with empathy. (after all) partly psychopath? chuckle nah. god no. i just like to keep my options open (always) mind open.

don’t like being limited. (especially without knowing why)

Wouldn’t it be nice to remember that you believe in me?

Wouldn’t it be nice to remember how to believe in me?

All I need.

I think that’s all I need.

But all I want
It’s something more than that. The conviction that I am special, shining from somebody’s eyes. but only if reflected from mine. but who really knows from where the light shone first and where it first refracted? as long as I can read it.

(I’ll be okay. You see, that’s all I need, if I really do believe it)

I did not possess the energy, the conviction to fight for something that I would not regret.

screens hook me so well, so fatally

from when i was little

(it’s addictive to forget, ignore neglect everything hard, painful, necessary)

important)

i wish i could fill my chest up with this music and the possibilities it whispers to me (even in the dead of night, especially in the dead of night)

like some do with cars and petrol

all the angles at which i exist

played out in a comforting unreality in something as as

so that it can fuel me, let me burn in absolute

cushion me, blind me in the face of

the world and myself, allow me to simply care less

and care more, differently

with fire to burn my way

any which way

i am not aware of endings until they are long passed

(and sometimes in those tiny flashes of clarity and panic, dread)

until i can look back and remember with an ache in my chest

I regret it but it is almost a choice

(it’s choosing to be lazy, choosing to be innocent)

art is that tiny twist in your soul, angles shift, that slightly off firing of synapses and the smallest constriction in your chest, related to the feeling of sudden comprehension of a chemistry problem, of elation while standing on the top of a hill breathing in, of recognition (,) of meaning.

and i still believe it

(so you’ll need to convince me)

I have done nothing (even close to) admirable in my life.
I have never felt it so sharply (I’ve only ever had inklings) as when I started reading it in others’ eyes.

( you could say: you’re only seventeen. well.)

not for myself. not for others.



and fuck you to you too.

I do actually like and I do actually care

I do actually fight sometimes

It’s just hard to dash out the door

it is movement versus stillness

My mind is shaped by my surroundings.

I’m like water, I accommodate to fit my partly self-imposed containers.

I settle in. I settle in.

and I don’t react I just diffuse/. take in and separate by my embrace.

except (let me check) lithium, sodium, potassium, rubidium, caesium and francium
i would like to find the element for the right reaction between them.

magnetic bonds. are too small to see like neurons. ( meaning i can’t follow - that far)

especially when I’m hungry

to be sad is so easy

…

i wanted to talk but i didn’t have anything to say.

and reveals they fall flat. (i can never say)

just that this eyecontact promised. it promised something.

the simple existence of promise (real or imagined). i don’t know why it exists.

it is not rational. so what is this? is this it? since.

i dared. and this it filled my chest with liquid gold. flooding. i look away.

but back again.

years and the world opens up

whether you want it to or not

like a flower in spring in the sun

to a certain degree

after that it becomes like a taped-shut box

maybe gift-wrapped

and it’s your choice whether you want to scuff

your nails on the cardboard and plastic

open the world up, or

maybe the other way round, or

it’s the same thing

it has to be a belief so strong it pulls you right through everything, pushes you right through everything, blasts through everything

any thought on different worlds and

how you’ve been a little lost and you are so prone to getting lost again and again

and again not anymore

so i can look back and think that was like a film

not try and see it now or

a few moments later

it’s the other way round

to be concious is to be in a constant state of desorientation