I Know This Place.

It remembers me.


The lonliness. the darkness. The despair.

It remembers me. Oh yes. It remembers.

The thoughts
Tinkering their games on bold roses.
Beautiful thoughts being bled to death, Suffocated by weak human motives, mammalian instincts and disgusting chemical bondage and release. Driven mad as a drill bit into a brick sidewalk that mesmerizes everyone who looks out of the window eating their lunch. Staring staring, always staring. Entranced by the sink and release of such a powerful machine. You know lonely? I know this place. Like the back of my hand I made a map but If you took a picture would I be able to tell my hand from the rest? Think you know lonely? This is crazy. I know that place too. The land of over think and over thought and too much thought and not enough thought to think. I know crazy. But this place I know too. It is the land of empty. And sometimes it's good because you think you know where you're going though you can't feel it, but like Apple Maps you look up all of a sudden to fall into a sewage hole and down down you fall like Alice in Wonderland, not knowing where you're going, just knowing you're spinning out of control. And it's not objects flying around you, it's memories. Lost and long forgotten beautiful and ugly and horrible memories that are like acid to your soul and when you're falling you fall through every single one and once you hit the bottom there's no rabbit but there is poison on the table in a dark empty room. And all you do is stare at it and wonder if it's worth it, to get to what's on the other side of the door. Because you have no clue at all what's over there, beyond the door. You try to escape from the hole you're in, but it's slick walls. Slick walls that seem to grow tighter and tighter until you feel there's no choice but poison.

Until one good thought falls down, from where, you don't know. And this one ray of light suddenly becomes a balloon. And as that good thought fills you up and heals some of that burn, some of that hurt, it lets room in for just one more good thought. And soon the balloon is full enough to get you floating. Floating straight up through the hole, away from the poison, which is media, which is family, which is anyone or anything that brings you down and inwardly kills you but mostly which is yourself, and it brings you up, past all the bad, past all the horrible thoughts and memories, right back into empty, past it into a shining place called happy. Just for a little while. And it's good, because it feels like you know where you're going.

Think you know crazy? I know crazy.


And this,


is getting out of it.