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licking the wallpaper free.

Wonka had nothing for my case of lead-based paint ingestion, and neither did the doctors, who said i would be mentally-deficient for the rest of my life. It sucks to be considered a retarded person when you don’t happen to be one. As kids, we see ourselves in a completely different way than we seem to when we find how adulthood has changed us, inside and out. Heavy thoughts like stagnant water sit still in my brain, with my mind held captive, and my body fearing for its’ life. Progress is free for those can afford it, and you have to stick to the regimen they create for you. If you don’t abide by their rules over you, then you might be labeled some kind of slippery slur that will raise the personal defenses, and then you will have to defend yourself against the pummeling that transforms most people. When i rant, capturing that butterfly in the net, and focusing to make it perform for me. Dementia in a dimensional demonstration for the internal struggle as proof and evidence to the infernal smuggling efforts of the confused and the abused through the usual channels. The spirits need somewhere to go today, and we can’t house everyone in flesh. The idiots traipse through the yards at night while the replicas take the weight of the sudden sundown, and we are revealed for the wastes that we can become. There is no sadness of a dark parade of self-affliction. We only condemn ourselves when helping another of our own kind. Their burden and baggage becomes ours by default on our loans of attention made out in full interest of the situation as it transpires, but fuck the blasphemy of this other real thing that protrudes like a sore. What are these whispers deep and unheard in the vast reaches of the pitiless organism?

Thanks, khet.