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Nothing feels wrong. I dunno that anything emotes any response. I feel so naturally cold and outside.
I want to write more. I write a lot but delete and burn most of it. It's mostly garbage I think. I like Smckey Robinson. I need to finish something. I keep working on nothing and nothing ever becomes something. I lack, cohesion and conclusion.
Today I woke up and untied my pink handcuffs. I was told that I was bold and legit unforgivable. I wouldn't forgive me. Shouty...
I can feel physical things. I can feel that as i sit on my bed with the window open, that i myself, are warm but there is a cool breeze. I can feel it on my skin. I'm suddenly very aware of how it feels, to say, rub my hands together, so finely tuned as some kind of substitue for being unable to feel much emotionally or recognise emotions.
I came out of the bath tonight and my hands felt and looked old. Old before their time.
i don't know whether i'm going to blog on here regularly or go back to my myspace blog. i know there are many subscribers there who are chapping at the bit for something to read, as i've not written for ages. i don't know. for now, i'll stick to here.
my ears. my mind. my heart can't deal with vocal words just now. be it...
