Damned Dame Of Dimsdalle

One of these days, this, THIS, would drag me down a spiraling abyss of pitch-black despair. Which I'll never be able to get up from, or see sunlight ever again. Or see that ray of sun, as a radioactive beam of skin-melting damnation.


Not that I'm already sitting in one shady corner, slitting my wrist and writing bad poetry with the black blood I bleed, or am I intending so. But there's this thing that's recently has been involuntarily, controlling the major part of my brain. The part where you rationalize and sort out things with logic.

But , since things you would normally derive from logic has been contradicting itself now, you have to be extra careful. And careful as in, stripping every living flesh of trust from the meat of rationality.

Or to put it simply, when you're as heck sure, have you never been this sure in your entire life, ever, that "D" comes after "A B C" , that's when suddenly "Q" or "X" pops out of nowhere and tuck itself just comfortably there.

Or like, preparing your tastebuds for the awesomeness of ice-cold cola, to only be scarred with a melting torrent of black, unsweetened coffee.


You get what I'm saying ?


Sure you don't, and let's leave it that way.



I still wish for what I've wished y'know.



Sigh.