Idiot

I really don't understand why I allow myself to feel anything at all
each and every emotion drags me through the murky depths of my mind
with turns leading to parts of my id unknown, places that I should have left alone
though it seems like I always drag parts along the paths taken
or scooping up pieces of reality to keep safely with me.

Postcards To Hitler (part 2)

Who was dancing in the middle of hell?
It was me, with the whore and swill.
Wish you coulda' been there,
it was full of fun, they had this fantastic
grilled tofu. It made the evening.

Hot Box Rental

There is a hologram that reminds of your golden splendor

another apparition of irresistible charm and woe,

so full of love and willing to commit itself to a life of rendering.

All in the name of passion, a life of unforeseen circumstances.

Postcards to Hitler

Correspondence with heaven, send a letter to see the devil

Spend a lifetime waiting for a response. We just didn't know,

there was no way to know. Everything fell into place when we feared

our own shadow as it made its way to hide behind us, we faced him

it was then that we drew, our conclusions became delusions

floating on the ether, high upon the clouds

riding the back of Pegasus, the winged muse of hope.

Tasting Through Burning

Future people have no idea what it was like

that compassion runs dry, tears fall onto dunes

spanning over the horizon, just where the sun lays

after we shot it down, while screaming enough is enough.

"We'd gone to have a piece of its burning flesh

eat it up and drink its blood, become one and like a phoenix

burn."

I think I might be going crazy, I think I might be right.

Today I start a strange trip, to say the least. This time the movie has a script where my face is the star, and the spot that has appeared is co-star.

It hurt, it stung, it was painful. I wretched and looked over, there they stood.

One of them came up to me later, talked about how the gov uses certain techniques to shut people up, and out. How some people need to be "taken care of."

I don't think it was a dream, the memory is too vivid. I was drunk, I think they were having fun. But how did they know about the pain on my cheek and the burning sensation?

One of them said to the other "don't tell him..." He'll know soon enough, replied the other. They walked away.

Was I targeted? Was it a paranoid dream? I don't have paranoid dreams. Why is the spot on my face growing? Why are the lymph nodes on my neck freaking out? Why are the lymph nodes on my neck appear to be moving something? Linearly they swell.

One of the most important questions is, why me?