I don't want to be awake any longer.

[oneirophrenia]

Mud in the water now--blood, too (mine...a little)--the usual jagged edges of broken beerbottles washing out of the silt and the usual...everything is buried under there. The flood comes.

(My body actually hurts with anxiety now. It shouldn't, but it does, and it looks like all those replacement parts I bought to refurbish myself just...are just as fucked as those I swapped out.)

Klonopin, kill me away from the acid-bath backward and just flush me back into the Real World with the rest of the flotsam.

....Just wash me downstream into the bay where I can find the Blue Fairy in the drowned ruins and I can ask her--beg her--to keep me real. To let me not just be a stupid machine that only thinks it's a person because some jackass creator thought it was funny to hardwire a self-identity into its registers.

Shit. I'm so damned tired and I am so damned confused and take all of this with a grain of salt--I'm just feeling completely brittle and dry right now. It's called over-reacting, I guess, but when have I ever done anything without over- tacked on the front of it? I am patholigcally determined to babble in cryptic miseries when it states like these, but I'm sure everyone reading this will know something of what it means, but I don't really care if anyone does or does not right now because I am alone in a very large, very quiet old house, and I am cold, and starting to feel drugged.

Enough.

Comments

[jdecay.livejournal.com]

Whatever the issues you're dealing with, I hope it turns out well for you.

Cryptic miseries, indeed. But at least the cryptic miseries are poetic.

[oneirophrenia.livejournal.com]

I want to believe it will. I *pray* that it will.

But....I don't know.

I'm at a complete loss for words and all I want to do is sleep.