wanting it, and needing some, i think i should have,

enough to make me mad enough, to make myself go mad.

i can’t stand it. i’m withstanding. .well i try. .i can’t.

i demand that you demand me, to pry. .perhaps?

seeing it and pining for, i think i would like some more. .

than nothing. .could be better. could be worse. i’m sure

i’m getting sick of being sickend, ’cause it’s sickening, and it’s yours.

i adore it. it is pure. i can clean it, out of my mind.

i am wanting to be sure of what to want, and just decide.

i can’t be confused. i must make some sense. i know what to do more or less.

my dillusions are tested with butterflies, and should’ve said. now i’m blessed

with the things that i am feeling. are feelings only odd?

are theese things all worth revealing? am i doing it or not?

maybe i can play at it, wing it, or pretend.

or maybe i’ll just sit, bullshit, untill my wit’s at end.