There's always gotta be something in something. Something in the gas, or the water. The air. Nothing is safe. Everything that enters my body, is somehow harming me. It has to be. Why else would I be like this? This, insanity that's growing in me. It must come from somewhere.
I didn't do this. I didn't bring this on myself. But I can't keep myself from eating and drinking my way to the chemicals of lust and love. Most of all, infatuation. The most addictive drug I've ever taken. And I'm strung out.
There is nothing more stimulating than expieriencing my imagination. It's so raw and pure. Nothing describes it better, not even words could match the vivid colors of obsession. You can't breathe deep enough to live through it after you've sunken a few feet down. There is no swimming back to the top.
Death is the only way out. And what is death? The end to all of it.