Cybresomatic Zine #3:

wiggling text asking 'and how does that make you feel?'

a pulsing 
memory
of a life once was
theres something always 
strange
in the words coming out of our mouths
out of their mouths
the silence shocks me
like diving into a pool of dark cold water
sinking lower and lower
rocks in my socks and
air bubbles escaping.
soon the fishes will consume my flesh.
but its not always like that
there are the forced highs
like a roller coaster chugging forward
pulled by the chains of command
and let loose by its own master.
down down down
a purposefull demise,
seen golden, profane
fallen from the grace of god.
something or other, 
another day passes,
and your left with your own voice
squeeks high and low
like the rat you are
sneaking through the sewers of your love.
i ache for release
limbs combined into one being
legs and arms and legs and arms and head
and no separation.
yes, i am one of them,
one of those who belong
but me, truly?
i am not.

a picture of sigmund freud with the flashing words over him asking 'HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL?'
new
and 
open
and 
divine.
its something i cant attain.
theres a scar
thats cursing my brain.
did i do that?
oh well.
the cuts and long time scars
they pollute my holy arms
bleeding and bleeding for no purpose.
why be an angel when you have fallacies
why be holy when you have sins.
even through birth
father had forsaken me
theres nothing in this world now
but butter dreams
but those dreams dont realize their potentials
no
those dreams are massive
a long lost
overactive memory
inactive imagination
remember all but none,
and regret those who've lost the battle.
piss on my grave,
shit in my funeral
dont call me what i asked for
i am not in heaven anymore
nor in hell did i destine
forget all i said and wonder
why did they not tell me?
  


theres something gravely wrong with me
and they wont see it
their selfish desires deny my existance
and wont let them see me.
do you see me?
reader, i am here.
and i haunt their existance
like a house they adored at once
and then never again.
reader, what is your name?
i cannot see through their eyes
inklings of dust and dirt cover it all.
the light is too bright 
shining into this dark dark attic.
tell me, reader,
why bother with this child?
it is too loud,
cries too much
eats a lot
and wastes up space?
throw it away
abort it at 1191 weeks
no shame in that
you protect your body as well as your pocket
SHE is just an unbothered soul.
reader, i plead
release me from my room
i have done no harm to anyone
not even you.
sure, maybe i set the blame on that thing
maybe i tormented them in their desperation
but reader, listen,
i am the victim here.

release me.
  


are you watching?
do you see me clearly through your screen?
i cant tell if you can see me or not.
regardless, heres the story.













































there is none.
you can never know.
  

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