My head is full of clutter and begging for simplification.
Fuck feels. Fuck plans. Fuck thinking in any way shape or form.
Make me useful.
Remove second guessing with actions that leave only one possible reaction.
Make it hurt, not because I earned it or even because you want it to, but because that’s the way it is sometimes when you’re alive instead of just living.
I need to feel it, to feel something sensical in the silence between the screams.
Make me beg for it, desperately debased in the face of unknown hunger and unrivaled desire. Give me yours until mine overflows in pleas and please.
If ever you’ve wanted me, however you’ve wanted me, now is the time to show it. Telling is for the dreamers, and for once I’m feeling awake and reveling in reality.
Be real with me.