words are the medicine. they are the drug that inflates the black balloon. i have walked a mile in the shoes of normative success and have realized i am only poorer. the length it takes a man to see what he truly desires is a hell not worth facing. what are the braces that must fall to the wayside before i can flow freely, before i can let creativity flow from my wounded head. i put myself in stressful situations. who will stop the rain. black sands and an evil plan. i am just waiting for some southern bell to save me from myself. or help me save myself. i dont know who anyone is these days

not me.
not
me.

i am a stranger to everthing.