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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Death By Voices

Death By Voices

There’s a difference between a fall and a free fall

 We’ve been smelling the same air for a while 
And at least that’s what I’ve come to believe.  
You don’t share much 
I fear that I empty my words and memories into a void that I’ll soon find myself in.  
Has handles and they hold firmly. 
It’s hard to test gravity if you don’t want to let go
And nothing else to let go of. 

It’s in our nature

I’m too poor for therapy
But that’s ok because I can do math,and cheat at cards again.
I’ve done good with myself to be honest-ish.

In summary

Woodpeckers are beautiful birds but what can one expect.
Woodpeckers are so beautiful actually
Clot my veins because of those fucking birds
Rip my fingernails because holy shit.
I’m too poor for therapy.

All or nothing

Transcending further into the idea

That everything in colour is ordinary

Kind of gives one a different shade of sadness to get used to.


I don’t know what it is

Lately I’ve felt the heavy sort of empty.

I feel as though my thoughts pull me down from sleep,

Pinned down without any means to stand.

Multiplane Technicolor

I’m just trying to find the world through some sort of fulfillment

But I don’t even know what it looks like.

I’m sorry for the stars and what they make me think of.

At fifteen one shouldn’t even be thinking of this

But for once how great would it be to look at colours with colours

Be less Grey.


I am sorry for everything that I say, and I wonder

That if I were to get to know you better would it stick 

Onto you as it stuck into me? 

It wouldn’t be close to something bacterial 

So forget antiseptics as a solution. 

Frowns and cold hands are problematic 

This wish to ask the world for an apology is a contagious nerve killer.

To Be Unfinished

Getting up 
And just going.
Still awake with the thought I could leave this instant 
And perfect my way of living by starting over again.
But I leave things unfinished 
I am “half done” with letters and books
And I would rather walk the equivalent of walking “there” 
By walking back where I started.
Craving and not working on change
I’m sentenced to a life titled “to be unfinished”