Note.
over-emphasis when pronouncing certain words, or under-expression thereof, words themselves—the reliance of my senses, how I perceive them, my method looking at objects feels hollow, worthless; my hands, my bony, skeletal condemned-to-grave fingers, those which I struggle to write the etchings of my existence, that I was here, before so easily grooved—well now I find difficulty in writing this pathetic verse inflicted by demons cooing melodies to a funeral hearse—the way these already dead locks fall estranged, grounded from collapsed stratosphere, windswept reeds having blown away from roots any semblance of self, drowning in violated swamp; my countenance, I don’t recognize it, the upholding of the head minutely tilted right in direction, flawed in appearance; the furrowing of eyebrows into crippled knots, the way my eyes stare ruefully into a great nothing, seeking absurd, somnolent salvation—in short, I feel dissociated – no, in actuality [whatever that is] I am dissociated; yet the only thing I know, the only thing that sustains, is pain. A pain I cannot be released from while living.