Godless religion. Chapter 3 of Dream Walking Savages.

I woke up layered in sweat. Startled by the nightmare that laced my mind. What was I to do now? It was getting progressively worse. You and I were at ends. A looming interference sifting through my brain, screaming a static pulse. I saw you motioning to me, haunting my science; gleaming, wet glue sticking into my conscience. I told you to stay but you pretended not to hear my howling. My mind grave saturated with chemicals. A pharmacology of unseated neurological mishaps. I’ve been on edge. My vision sinking deeper into the nether region of this despair. Closing eyes. Dreams upon dreams. I’m taking more of these herbal ecstasy pills. I can’t seem to shake this anxiety growing inside me, seeping inside the cavernous teeth of my mind. I bit down hard. She awoke me with promises. I have scrawled “help me”, sporadically on my high school notebooks. I still don’t know why. Yet the skyline fracture in your glances are of a peachy consistency. I stretched the pulpy matter there buried deep. Cutting through with my teeth.
Within the recess of sullen youth’s awkward eyes. I slept the day; conscious, bearing a coffin hole. I shifted dimensions, again. In my mind, snug. I could not reconcile with the weight of the vortex sucking at my soul. Shaking. Hard paced breathing encroaching me. Inching forward, revealing its thousands of tiny daggers. I have no rest. These smiles are truly unnatural.
Mixed frustration like a daze of still shots scattered in unordered sheets. I walk down this hallway and it feels like a different place each time. People jutting by; throwing glances, mysterious eyes, pang! There goes my heart. She sees me. Fierce and soft, tangled tension bearing down on me. I say hi, in broken English. She smiles and tells me, “you are crazy”. I admit, there is no controversy in my mind about that. I was caught in the subterranean forrest in a dream I had the other night. I was lost. I went to sleep to a compilation of music from the Cure and the Smiths. She reads me. Tells me things I cant seem to even understand. At least not yet. She is futuristic and I am an exile of the space time continuum. We seem to fit. Cozy. I am hazy. You are dazed. We shoot back looks. She tells me I’m stupid. “fuck”, I think. I’m her toy. She loves to see me at my near breaking point. I fall for the girl I am talking to. Always. This is how I live. Indulgence. “sit and spin”, are the words I hear her sound out with those pink lips. If she only knew that is how I would want her; to sit and spin, I get unruly. My mind is unmanageable. We hug. I kiss her soft, to the cheek. I want her. That is all I know. Speaking gets hard. As my words get mangled by the thought of kissing her breasts; licking her neck, sucking on her lips.
I am a haunter of coffee shops. I am a ghost with physical features, if I may. I am a true junky. I take my fix with sugar and non fat milk. Blood echoes into my brain pulse. Straight. The black brew does not dally nor play bad darts. It reaches the inner cortex and streams about my inner universe. I need smokes and coffee. I function hard.

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