[ok, i had an energy drink an hour ago and been wondering when i would be creative, and all this talk about people being creative i started writing freely instead of writing in response so instead of an e-mail you get to read a poem or something i wrote. its about me and my daily life watching people make up stuff and hoping that consumers will pay us for their electronic fantasies of fake-mes and digital-egos which we sell by the motherfucking truckload, here in the gaming business. The death unfolding part is when I was unwinding myself a few days ago and I asked myself what is the pain that would kill you and "are you afraid of it?" come on, die! bring on the pain, bring on the death! and i tried to force my self to die and i was in anguish. a few days later at my masseuse's getting a massage, friday night while i was unwinding she said it looked like i was being tortured, and as i was twisting my body i was screaming and crying like i never have before except when i was very young and in very pain.]
Stell,
I feel trapped in this hell
Circular expressions and mental transgressions
Every line is another minute
Every lie is another moment in it
Inside, system of lies
Inside, the mirror despises
Me
and my eyes
Full of horror and love,
Full of patience and agony
Dripping through the digital ink
More words are written, worlds never shrink
Their minds so dense
Their feelings intense
All from a few flashes
a bit of finesse, an electronic caress
to the digital nervous system
and everyone is feeling fine
thinking these games are divine
i saw without, i saw within
what i've seen crawls under my skin
underneath it all are skeletons
and underneath the bright days
death lies within
hoping death unfolds
i wish it would overtake me
but life will not forsake me
of my own free will
they give me chills
staring into cyberspace
grabbing digital solace
their blood runs out
i wish i could shout
but i am drowned in a sea of perception
they are drowned by their own reflection
until i live, i cannot die
until i know, i cannot ask why
such a thing,
as wonderous as me
would exist for nights and days
wandering into its own way
he is restless inside
he says my feelings are lies
that everything i touch
is electronic divinity
everything i touch
is electronic serendipity
i miss the rush
i miss the kisses and the fights
i miss the wonder of blood on my lips
and terrorizing the death in the night
driving by fast
screaming at last
freedom is found when lost souls abound
driving down the highways
martyrs into a mainstay
a life of madness,
immense sadness,
total gladness,
with each chemical touch from the bottle
with each hand grabbing its life, to throttle
and throttle out the old man
choking in seas of serendipity
throttling out the old man
until he dies from electronic cancer
i will never know my answer.
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