nebel

I feel sick from drinking too much orange juice and enjoying it.

enjoyed pulling off the glue that stuck to my skillfully useless fingers, and then left the bits of frail skin on my jeans.

it made me feel like a confused snake, entranced in it's own coils.

I don't even really like snakes.

I miss the smell of sweat from being outdoors. and the way that trees can burn your skin and leave little bark like abrasions.

I like that I can't spell, and hate that I'm not appreciated for it.

I told on the cooks, and felt delightfully guilty for it.

I feel like writing this is pointless and cryptic, but it feels good.

and everyone knows that you don't ever stop doing something that feels good.....unless you throw up first.

is this at all productive? does the idea of leaving a somewhat feel good community leave me shaking in my boots?

I want to feel nessisary, and productive.

I want to have my ambition, and figure out how to have motivation at the same time.

these things take time, and time has me by the throat.

feeling aware of myself and terribly judgemental and anxious and nasuous and like the mystery of you is drowning me in blood.

but happy, sugar coated blood, with a chocolate life preserver just a couple yards away, and singing to me about unicorns and wax stautes for me to melt.

give me butterfly kisses in between your tear drops, and myabe I will feed off of your misery.

or give in to an awkward sandwich hug that makes you wonder if being this close to my boobs is alright, or itf maybe a hand shake would have been better.

but I will laugh and sqeeze tighter and wonder if you can kill someone with a hug.

maybe I feel morbid and unfullfilled

or maybe worried, and scared
but alive and insatiably hungry for life.

and the death that comes with it.

I am babbling.
and I'm tired.
I want to complain about work tomorrow. and I have this new rule about only updating once I get two pages of comments.

so hup-too!