(0194) blinking off superstition

noise pollution. feeling empty again and no way back now. the whispers were enough to keep me balanced temporarily. tell me once more. who was it that fucked up? palatable only to a few but enough. intake through breath; feel soon the death. if i wished to not exist, would it be any worse? feeding on the restlessness, caught up in a trance, never coming out until i need a second chance. tasteless, i know. comes to nothing. walk away when we can, leaving footprints that are gone three hours later. and always reaching for that helpless hand. oh, just sleep it off they'll say. read a book. no thanks. i'll write my own. fingers crossed. the immediate consolation wasn't much, but i had to take it otherwise.