Stuck in such uncomfortable places. Lonesome, horned conversations long leading to disappointment with a fist of reality of what is not. I eat, drink and wear my chemicals. They are enough but no where near what I need. Every attempt at satisfaction, even contentment, leaves me craving more, further, or for things I will never have. True and untruthed things, you knew it was like this.
The itch is always far too deep within my skull. I cannot run away from it. Sleep it off, work it off, wank it off.
