Oh The Places You'll Go

Walking around as if in a fog. As if past dead. As if as if as if in a trance. The noxious smell, a kick in the face, a stab in the throat, a burning that burns burns burns burns. Delirious. If only there was a word to describe such confusion. Delirium. Look around. Standing up standing tall straight proud. Everything spinning doesn't look right not right not right not right. Some kind of dream. The sour taste tart as a lemon like a lemon. Sweeter than honey than chocolate than candy. More bitter bitter bitter than rust blood licking the contacts on a battery bitter bitter rust bitter blood bitter battery bittery battery. A bad trip. Look around. On the floor like a beggar slave corpse. When will it end. The smell. The taste. The memory. Everything at once. Can't even see anymore. Can't even breathe. Everything empty. The story tells everything that is and fills in nothing. No imagination. Nothing is real. Real real real real real? Nothing? Lying in vomit and blood and darkness. Horrible.