poignent

I am being unmade. Desire is slipping away.


people wince and flounder with their dim "sociability".



my eyes are more bloodshot everyday



I have no idea what I am becoming.

people look at the ground when I walk by.


conversations dry up then cease altogether.


this is not a joke.
I tried to be sociable today, but just couldn't supress the maniac tremble in my worn out whisper.

maybe this not wanting, not understanding is the beginning of wisdom.