words.

I have fallen into this downward helical of emotions.
I cannot control those wisps and feelings which slenderly slide past the tips of my fingers and out of my grasp. I have longed to reach but a bit further, to extend my fingers to feel by touch these objects of nothingness which i cannot feel by heart. I have chosen to exploit the kin of others and the tenderness in their beating muscles.

I think perhaps, i have gone dead inside because my body has become outwardly so alive. The activities are etching away at my heart, further proving it to be stone. I am damned. I am damned. I am damned. I think, perhaps i have gone dead inside because externally my body has found joy with an absent mind.

The tissues paper marks, are gliding further than they were before. To the bone I've found a calling, further than i previously knew. At this i am indefinitely drowning on infinitively about the scars of which i've found to soothe, the agony of truth, the truth, the truth of youth.

I am blabbering as a child would when they find the split paint ball struck against a tree. The oily residue dripping slowly and weaving in and out of the lines of wisdom upon the bark, setting a soiled river. The lack of knowledge to asess the situation and the curiousity probing a finger to touch, just a small simple safe touch. Saddening isn't it? To find it was not blood.