a plea, a teetering catastrophe

fuck me. this mania won’t go away. it has been weeks. i have become a manic man pixie dancing and singing as i clean and clean and clean, unable to sit still. just the music up too loud as electricity crackles in my skull. at odds with the miserable thoughts permeating this tangible catastrophe, sparks fly as i slide across the linoleum, doing eight tasks at once, all in various states of abandonment. every blink flashes her cheshire smile, unleashing another wave of icy pain only to evaporate into shards i lovingly caress as time oozes, falling between seconds into whichever new dilation seeks to thread my tattered soul, bound and gagged in shibari by the disinterested hands of fate. a semi autonomous sex doll streaming lubricant tears, flying at a million miles an hour head first into the brick wall of my own insecurities. needing meds but settling for drugs and only encouraging the spiral, hoping to flash back into the sediment sentiment of sweet depression.

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