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Tell me your secrets
11:35 p.m. 2004-09-12

catastrophic delirum trigger blows apart these screens and forsaken idols are grains of sand in your hand. Existence is futility and this intercom is echoing with the click of goodbye. A subtextual evidence read between these lines and your answer is lying in this letter that screams of farewell and forsaken existentialism. Straight from my heart this can't bode well for a tragic ending. In your nuances of insanity this blood rips wells and gouges the earth in scars and ashen plains. Your fingers create tidepools and crush the air from invertebrates and life ends unexpectedly. It was your essence that bore the truth that meant that life was something trivial and it was the ring in answer that meant there was something more. In your tragic flow of tears this oceanic void is a fissure between immorality and a constant stream of conciousness. You reiterated your point with calloused grace and the voices of angels plead you case in the waking hours. THrough my skitzophrenia you become a phantom and ineffectually we walk amongst them cigarette baring evidence of a tormented soul. THrough your verbal outbursts the useless of all of this blares clear. Hook this pulse to my skull and blast this perception throug your headphones. In your musical deliquency you see a trace of me going off the deep end and into a black riff that was somehow poetic. The death of a living legend terminated the need for lament and in your suicide you are released from an ending unlike the ones they write stories about. In your sobbing raindrops this is a buckling sequence of crumpled events gathering around your drawing board. This mix of paint and color is a recreation of the cluttered attic of the upstairs mind that links heartfelt sorrow to a manic need to bleed. Through sour sweet whispered nothings we are born of flesh and soul and in taking these words back you rend it all to tattered pieces of paper. Remember what we said wouldn't happen remember remember adelaide adelleda can you be my only one? This letter i'm writing isn't one for her its for you and its saying that all of this never meant a thing in flowing script and eloquent similies. THis is a masterpiece of delusion and a timely error in judgement brought the blistering silence at the other end of the register. Could you look me in the eyes and tell me you hated me because that would make this night complete. Sorry i didn't hear you, if ever lie made it in so deep then i'd be too full of shit to bear it. But when they said the truth hurts... and when they said you weren't the right choice maybe i should have listened. And sometimes its not about sophistication or elegant prose. Sometimes this is about the rare quailty that buries us and a simple honesty that seeems to much to admit. Honestly, did you expect all of this to work?

Maybe the worst thing would be to lose it all now but maybe the best thing would be to throw it all away and laugh at the scattering of these accumulated love letters that add up to nothing...

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words @ jake, layout @ kelly