i've got a brand new game i wanna lay on you

i liquify my thoughts and then i evaporate into filthy, sticky, dense humidity.
i know so little. i know nothing.
and there is absolutely nothing indicative of any significance deriving from my breathing.

i crawl my way through the conscience of my weakling, i require anything, everything i want, i steal in a way it seems as if i am given, i waste all and then i leave. leaving nothing behind. empty spaces and agony for Him and Her, the two i fought for and conquered, until my gravitional momentum steals their gasps as well.

"it's just a philosophy! i'm not gonna off myself. this is theory.tottaly different thing!"
I can't believe I ever said those words hoping to find a truth in them while spitting them out with spite. It's not a philosophy, it is airborne bullshit. all of it. and it is all the same. philosophy, action. it resides in you head.
it spawns in your brain.
as i age the pores on my skin leak black bile, i am a bucket of spit, sweat, blood, tar and tears. And they are all just the same.
all lies in the illusion. you see what you want to see. thus i am pleasant like a sweet springtime afternoon.

there is absolutely no point. no reason. no real result. cosmic void.


but, honestly,
if that can't set you free what can?