word vomit...

You know, you feel brilliant when someone you don't know tells you.
You don't feel so nifty when your friends tell you that you're a genius. That just whispers: you're an idiot.


I'm better kept with my mouth shut. Better sounded when no words come out. Better dressed when wearing nothing. Better to be worse than be nothing, nothing at all.
I should deserve what I work for, what I give back. "So, stop being so kind to me."


Your second choice, duck tape my lips, no more kisses. Don't give it up until I get it right. Let me sweat it out until I put the pieces together. Let me suffer, let me suffer. Black. White. I'll find the light. I'll find it bright. It'll be alright. Because I'll find the peace within me.
Let the faucet drip. Let it slip warmly, mildly until it floods the dusty and diagonal wooden cracks in the ground, on this ground. It'll have to get there first. It will have to slide off the swirling marble sink, it'll have some friction in this cold place. Less of most. More or less. We want it. I'll tip toe like Nike footsteps on a pavement, I'll switch it off with the screech as I... squeeze my eyes so tightly and scrunch all the muscles toward my glute. Your shadow, still lying quarreling and light in the pitchblende of these sound effects. And all that he doesn't hear. Because, it's all in my head. Because, it's not really here. Because it's only made up, in these words. In this unavailable, invisible, transparent illusion. I just, make these things up so that I can imagine it were happening but my mind soon believes it, but cannot picture what had happened. Because I was never there. I wish I could turn that faucet off. But we'll let it drip, drip, and drop. Because that's the way it is.


...meets symbolism.


These gripping grounds are tight and secluded, but we're going to bring the audience.