Red shoes.
Pointed.
Long legs.
Seductive.
Black pantyhose.
Short skirt.
A woman who knows how to make walking look good.
So good you want to see her dance moves…
Where is she going dressed like that anyway?
She’s going where she doesn’t wanna go isn’t she?
That’s why she takes her steps slow.
And the entire time she’s walking that fine line, she has thoughts running through her mind, that make her wonder why she doesn’t stop-drop-and-roll.
Why doesn’t she go back to who she was before?
Before what?
All the stuff that made her stuck.
Stuck in what?
Stuck between two worlds.
Cause, that’s when she shot yourself and dropped the gun.
You don’t want to be part of your own murder scene, do you hun?
So needless to say, there’s nothing left to go back to unless you want your leftover soup.
Chicken noodle soup is good, but not if it’s cold and old.
So that’s why she likes to pound herself out with a massage gun she found lying around.
The vibration helps her release trapped emotions stuck in her cells.
I think my apartment is making me unwell.
Someone is trying to stop me from being free.
Too bad I don’t have a real gun.
Target practice could be fun.
Psilocybin has been fun.
How do you like your eggs, hun?
Over easy, my love.
Easy come, easy go.
That’s my new motto.
It gives me room to grow.
I have this song in my head, by The Tragically Hip, it goes; find somewhere to go, go where you’re needed.
I have no idea where that is.
Am I needed?
Not even a little bit.
I blame it on the system.
There’s no place for me.
Look at what they did to me.
Nothing can fix this.
She’s so ugly.
This is the noose I can’t escape.
Trying to find a knife so I can find sanity.
Give it time.
Maybe it will get better with time.
This is why we spend so much time contemplating all the beautiful ways to die, while at the same time trying very hard to create an extraordinary life.
Life is really strange sometimes.
So sometimes it’s nice to get high.
Love is my preferred drug.
Try to do stuff that feels like a good hug from someone you love.
I remember being hugged.
Hugs aren’t always fun.
Who hurt you, hun?
I don’t know, mom.
Can you tell my monster to go away?
I’m sick and tired of him making me feel this way.
Okay, how about I make you a treat then?
I know, how about a nice piece of pie?
Like a warm apple pie with ice cream on the side.
Yeah, I really love apple pie…
And pumpkin pie.
And blueberry pie…
And cherry pie.
Almost any pie is nice.
And I love really good sex.
A passionate romance.
A spiritual connection.
Really real, raw, honest conversations.
An experience of a lifetime that lasts a lifetime.
So tell me my love…
Would you be mine?
Sure.
But I don’t have a long lifeline.
That’s fine.
Time isn’t really real.
What time zone are you in?
I don’t know, my friend.
I think I keep repeating the same day over and over again.
This is what happens when we get stuck in time loops, isn’t it?
Loops can be daunting.
Must check the facts often.
Maybe you can find a way out of your loop if you plan your attacks wisely.
Plans don’t last.
And last time I checked the facts, I realized everything is a lie, and people have lost their fucking minds.
Put on a mask and shut your eyes.
Do what they say.
Be part of the cray crays.
But then I can’t see or breathe.
That’s okay.
At least you can hear their evil deeds.
Eventually you’ll be part of a plan to kill human beings.
Or, turn off the mainstream media feeds.
They are trying to kill you with fear and brainwashing.
I know, how about you take the top of her scalp off, pull all your brains out and put them in a tub full of lukewarm water and soap, and clean your mind out.
Maybe then humans will be clean enough to be part of the general public again.
Yeah, don’t count on it.
Count your blessings instead.
This will have a better return on investment.
Okay then.
Today I am grateful for a sunny day.
And my 3.5 grams of wedding cake.
Tea.
Warm blankie.
