(i wrote this a long time ago when we were fucked up at 
some party. don't mind the non-making-sence-ness :)).

***

that seemingly pointless state of mind
we all find ourselves in,
that mental recycling bin..
perpetuating the meaningless thought,
but it's all you've fucking got for company sometimes.

it's like a rat trap, snapping at your heels.

the guilt of nothing
the paranoia of myself.
i can't explain the feeling...
of cyrstal meth and nicoTINE?

i can't make you hit the ceiling
... anymore... FUCK,
i can barely lift your gaze...
but maybe one day you'll escape the maze
... find the drug that makes us sane.

what? i'm so numb..
i guess i forgot to feel today..
just like you manage to do everyday..
everyday i allow myself to think about it.

but that's gone.

and people will say a lot of things.
and they'll make a point to write a lot of it down.
a story to enforce the rules,
to feed the reigns of control,
to tighten the relentless pull of a selfish want;
a selfish want of sole power.

a shower of hate.. sometimes it's really funny.
sometimes.. the hilarity of your door to door preaching
really gets to me..
all that one on one time.. please.
don't waste your breath.

love michelle.