in ink i write it, but that doesnt help

2004-09-20, 11:51 p.m.

its all transitory, and what hits me the hardest is expecting something to last more than an hour. seems so dark to say that, but im looking back, trying to find a heart beat that didnt stick to my chest; some breath that didnt swallow up the dirt inside my house.

walking across this checkered hallway, the doors are pearl-white, painted to blend in and appear innocuous, but these all lead to a different form of illness. the white is here to keep the cnacer patients calm, while the doctor suggests that they not call it cancer, but something else instead (how is the ice cream today?) ive tried all the halls, looked through seemingly countless examination rooms, and no answer comes. one day i think i may just wake up and it will all be gone, the love will have evaporated under the scorching sun of a midnight desert.

_______...o o 0 O O[=.=]O O 0 o ._______

and the staring leads to sleep, but the lack of understanding remains, to ask where i will be in 10 years is to ask carbon what its favorite incarnation has been.