I'm so fucking bitter about all that is floating, scything around, poking me with poison tip needles. Indecisive, hyper-active angry objectives make me crave a long silent meso-memoria siesta.
It's akin to being on the edge of a crumbling, alchemy starved world, waiting for your turn to die. All so flagrant, so simply OBJECTIVE(!) and I can't seem to stop hopping around like a two year old with Downs who is mentally disturbed and just had his first taste of sugar. I have long since supposedly gotten these urges that encourage my erratic, moody, irrational behaviour under check. The same urges that encourage me my stick the mental protractor on my drawing desk straight threw my thigh, the same urges that make me want the press my thumb into Kira's neck and feel him wither beneath me. It's all so incredibly futile.
I hate everything so much I need it. I'm battling against the broken pieces of myself, the up and the down, such is violent contrast.
This is the twenty third hour. They beckon, spoiling for war. And I can?t decide which side to be on, so much so that it is killing me. The end is so close I can taste the blood in my throat.