mascott.

isn't it funny how i hate honey and yet compare only the sweetest, most irresistible things to it?

it's dripping with warmth and golden light,

sugary and refined,

plush cushions of relief and content.

my head is pulsating

with reverberations of life.

is it possible to live so much,

that you forget you're alive?

salt?

my eyes are so tired.

it's that kind of tired that feels like granules of sand are rubbing at your eyes,

tearing your connection to reality away,

and slowly opening your mind to dreams.

i'm hungry too.

not my stomach,

but my mouth.

i long to taste, to feel the sweet weight of something. 

i had a daydream today about driving,

how it would feel to put on a seatbelt

place my glasses on the bridge of my nose,

fight with the cd player before i turned on the gas.

take the gear and shift to drive

and press, with the most perfect distribution of weight, on the gas.

i want my muscles to burn.

i miss writing in my journal. in the beginning i felt like i had deserted him.

now i really have.

sorry blog,

but good ole' paper and pen calls.

same old, same old

fine you arrive

this wound needs ice

fine you arrive

this wound needs ice.

you and your soapy eyes called it off so late at night

but your hands on your heart cause your head's always right.

-tokyo police club