because i don't know what you are. i open and the window and scream. only nothing comes out. nothing but that sound i make in dreams when i can't say anything. this isn't a dream. this life filled with half-witted internal organs and too many soundless words. nothing goes down easy. the way fist-fulls of caramel flavored pudding might. why are there always so many hands? there's never enough feet. and in an awkward way. i think to god that i just might --

i am going to fill this screen with my head. smash the contents until it breaks and goes away. bring a shovel. this one is going to get messy.