it goes. and it goes. always all the time. and i couldn't begin to explain to you what that means. my mother says to me, maybe you're just venting, but you don't seem to like anybody. ohidontknow. i've done it again. that's something i can agree on. and sick of self. every action ever made has led up to this point. where i am right now. all the choices. ever sense of determination. ever passive limp-wristed gesture. and here. drinking up all afraid like fine wine. that's not a metaphor. and it doesn't work. but seems like consuming fears. for an hour. maybe two. thinking about different things. i'm going places. in my head. back to where i was once. or forward to where i'd like to be. one of my biggest secrets is the amount of time i spend pretending. no that's not you, because i said so, you will decidedly be this person, because i said so. you hear. no not lonely. i'm a secret agent. and this is the life i chose. it's cold and hard. but when i was young. and those gypsies came and killed my parents. took away the family farm. i knew, even then, that this would be a solitary life. bad hand those fuckin cards. the only things that cling to me are time and death. i have no control. i lack it completely. don't laugh itsnotsofunny. seriously. i can't. i can't do it. my face is caving in, while i bloat and cringe at the present deterioration of my self, who i once knew so well. when people say, what you see is what you get. i don't think they really mean it. i said it about a month ago (i've been gone about a week) and the moment the words left my lips i knew they weren't true. and i am not a liar. the veins under my tongue have swelled. there are abscesses forming in my sinuses leading through the roof of my mouth. soon i won't be able to talk. my trachea is just a honey comb. easily crushed. ripped out and apart. ulcer. ulcer. ulcer. come on. give it to me. come on come on. i want it now. i don't want it now. that was a lie. i am a liar.