Portishead and Jim Beam

I’m weird because I can barely see and my mind makes up the deficit by making me over feel…
I’m hypersensitive as hell.
Over here, over feeling.
Everything is painful.
Beauty. Hope. Love.
Is there a such thing as better anymore if there ever was?
I don’t know anything much if I ever did or if anyone really could.
I’ve barely seen some things that I shouldn’t have and still feel them now.
I’m weird because I can feel it more than I can see it…
I’m moody as fuck.
Unconsciously over-exaggerating…
Everything is painful.
Art. Work. Liberty.
And when I need to refocus as I often find that I have to do
I remember the only thing that I know to actually be true…
I will die.
I will die soon.
I will die on my own.
I will die alone.
I will die in another moment from this one.
And then, because I feel things much stronger than my ability to see…
when I remember that
I feel nothing at all for a second…
its pregnant and thick and most importantly quiet.
Dying reminds me to carry on feeling strong
being weird and all
because fortunately
it won’t last very long.
So go ahead and call.

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