I don't want to be inside all of this evaporated guilt and a point and click universe. I don't want to be live where forgetfulness is happiness. Some days you wake up hungover but at least you know there was something to regret. Here under my unmade sheets I lie awake, but only in consciousness. My eyes are open but my feet don't function. My heart beats but ever so slowly. Every doodle I draw is someone else's. Nothing really draws me but clouds whisk by me like the years in life. I gaze at them with curiosity, take my eyes away for what feels like a minute, and they're gone.
I'm the shadowy figure of a balloon's reflection. A colorful shadow, but a shadow nonetheless. Whispered darkness carries me away and any hope of light is overcome by the distracting noise of dying flowers.