80% mental illness and its effects on others/myself (ED, depression, anxiety, PTSD)
15% sleep problems (nightmares, anxiety)
15% physical health
15% the world is dying, what isn't dead yet is cruel
Hard to summarize. I'm an animal, I am cruel, I will always hurt people, I will always be tired, I will always be followed by everything that has ever happened to me and everything I have ever done to everybody. I am poisonous in a way the word doesn't command, I am ruinous in a way the word does not command, yet I am all commands from the psychopomps in my head vying to get me to a place where they can do their fucking job---that's what I've settled on what they are, they're not gods! They're not gods! They're not gods! I can vacillate back and forth so violently between lucidity and incomprehensibility, but my neck remains as intact as it ever has been. They're not gods! My head tilts to the left, not because of physical malady, but because they live there; they live in a way I will never, and in a way I was never meant to. I am toil, I am soil, I will boil boil boil, I will boil boil. My words are bilious at best when not from they, the benzene dripping from my lips boiling over from the giants in my chest that burn just as the wildfires rage in the forests that we live in. Gone! Gone. O, lost! O, lost! O, lost! and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again! Come back again! They're not gods! But their words drip so lightly from the numb of my tongue that those in the way cannot stay---they learn to leave and leave to live. I cannot. I cannot. Gone! Focus---gone! I work for it, focus---gone! O, lost! Do their job! Do their job, ghost! Lost!