A head conncected to a neck. A forehead connected to a wall, multiple times, driven by a great force. An eye connected to a face. A eyelid plucked out, multiple times, pulled by the largest pliers. A tuft of hair connected to your fingers. A bald man staring at you in the mirror with a tear in the corner of his eye. Lungs ripped out from a chest. Screaming.
Somethings are better left unsaid. Somethings are better left as your own thougts. Somethings are there just for you to know.
I spent a good time thinking about things last night. I lay awake in my bed for a long while, just staring at the walls, at nothing. Pulling my hair, covering my eyes, turning, shifting around. Music didn't help, I turned it off. Nothing did. It was just me against my own thoughts and I think they won this time. If that's a good thing, I don't know yet. I just know that at the moment I feel like I'm a desperate man in a desolate word, trying to kill his own thoughts with a gun that has no bullets, with a sword that has no blade. I'm just a shell filled with thoughts of self-pity, self-anger, confusion, a mixture of everything so ugly that it's almost beautiful. I'm lost.
.an epidemic in my heart.