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antipunk

The place where people die before they live

Member Since 2007

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Thursday Jun 21, 2007

Jun 21, 2007
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The screeching cries of banshee winds...the rumble of dried leaves...I hear an echo in the distance... but is it just inside my eyelids..the sounds of madness...

My eyes closed tight with my head laying upon the hard warm concrete. I can still smell the asphault despite my hacking and coughing from disease. My black leather jacket feels comforting between me and the concrete. Upon opening my eyes I am intrigued as I stare at the clouds as they form odd patterns and shapes.

I had never seen clouds like these before. Everything seemed so more than normal. Like it had a meaning or purpose...even though... I know it doesn't. Its why I drink so much cough syrup... robitussin...the more I drink, the more the illusion melds together. Dreams of more than reality... I can swear, almost, just almost..that there's a picture here. That its right there! Right in front of me! And that this very picture I so clearly see with delusions means something! And that it means something to me...or to somebody...

Either way I feel like apathy. Despite all my trying, no matter how much syrup I drink, no matter how many drugs I take, despite all the effort, the struggle, the theiving, the thinking, the crying, the hating, the raging, the laughing, the madness and the sickness. It still means nothing.

The picture of life means nothing to me. I cannot see what everyone else is trained to, beauty lies much deeper in reality I suppose. The happy smile of sincere care have long since appeared in any friends face that would not show the same care to a complete stranger. For long I have understood that I am worth nothing more than any other worthless walking corpse.

Its true though and It doesn't hurt, its been accepted. When you just accept things they stop hurting. Did you know that? But I guess everything hurts for a reason. To alert us, to tell us to act, to tell us to stop making it hurt. Accepting the misery isn't what our body and minds want us to do yet we choose it anyways.

We figure out how to make it better this way, with the pain. We are problems solvers for our own mental retardation. We develop ways to justify the ignorance of pain. No matter how we are doing it, we none the less still do it. That is when we are against nature, we we no longer feel. When I no longer feel. I no longer feel hate for this world, its been accepted; I no longer feel love for this world, its been accepted. I no longer feel, yet I ontinue forever to stay strong and still hold on.

Death comes for me and each day I must battle to survive.

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