2003-09-15 @ 2:48 p.m.

permanent mood:

                                 -to extraordinary little cough

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On Monday afternoon you wake up all alone little pale fire burns beneath your skin eyes against the weight of the air you feel paralyzed

On Monday afternoon days being eliminated future still unclear anxiety blurs your eyesight you lie awake close your eyes for a sec wind touches your bare skin you weep silently

On Monday afternoon with all the light gone out noises carried in you sit still on your little bed piled with books and bubble-like little daydreams are just going to explode you look so solitary your breath getting warmer you can not stand your own temperature you think of swimming pool you think of sinking into it you think of whose disinterest in suicide that is not the way you want it to be either you just love the feeling of falling to get high and higher your soul fed by some tiny paralyzed voice that is enough you think of her think of time think of reality and illusion can be never merged you are so helpless your soul fed by dreams whenever day and night your desire is so fiery climbing up my fiery staircase door half closed you open it and find my body lying on the red red sheet

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"When I was lying down on my blood red bed sheet, you came out from the darkness. You saw my hair shedding, my eyes hollow. You know something is different at night. That is why you came by at night. And if it was bright outside, nothing was the same. I know your expression though you never look my way. I am aware of the way you looked frightened. The weeper, the weeper, the weeper of the dark is the one who fainted to make you weep. Your eyes were as red as your sheet..."

II

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on Monday afternoon your sleep is disturbed by your meaningless sentiment