subject: cry
time: 9:30am
music: the walk - imogen heap
mood: pissy
consequence; the end product of so many past decisions and happenings initiated by others if not yourself. the future is a consequence as much as it is the victim, the fault, the reason why everything is heavy and disciplined and stiff - headed for one direct focus, one central point: nothing. ... nothing is consequence.
dear me, what have i, for the prayers that arrive with the dead sunrise to maintain the tenacious grip of fear like there is no closer second to me? how many times do i have to say i sleep to dream of you? dear me, i beseech you; make me an essence of the subliminal bond i yearn to hold. make me a delicate balance for your every tinge of lack. in tears, i wait for dear you to catch my dying fall. for every word that you may not speak, brave me enough to be inspired towards the road to mend. so take her away dear me. do not fear me and you will have a beautiful life ahead. hold me and i will make you fall in love so that you will never leave. i think i will never break you, and i think i just need you to know that. dear me.
but if should any word comply, it may be treachery, receptiveness. something along those lines, or the lack of both. i am devious that way. before this, let me cast countenance over all these hypocritical mien. natural partiality to endure, i am much less than dismayed to expose my past deeds, sufficiently intoxicated by the ceaseless ramblings on the missive of my own imaginations. in sleep i talk because i binge on words. i am binging on these words that contain no falsehoods, designs or volume.. only the stark transient truth about us. it's similar to needing courage to be underestimated but, you needing greater strength to judge me. so judge me already.
today i am a caricature of myself as i brutally exaggerate and criticise every of my prominent perculiarity to enhance the grotesque effect; in order to satisfy destructive self-fulfilling prophecies and proving that much substance exist in murphy's law.
