volcanic rock.

all i want is somebody to tell me no.
for the superglue to be off my palms.
to stop collecting shards of printed paper.
i want to know nobody.
but my nature is dependent on others.
i only want to be alone forever or with somebody forever.
these awkward breaks in routine make me uncomfortable.
these silent soliloques i profess to readers unknown, all i want is for them to stop.
no more awkward writing styles irritating the literary skin of readers.
i dont want any more fuel to drive the engine that produces these words.
fuel is combustible.
im burning from the inside out.
this isnt an ordinary ulcer caused by an ordinary nervous quirk.
this is the decay of time and thought.
and the result of the mathematical formula of those elements.
i want to silence myself.
to become a plane that has run dry of fuel.
and hopefully crash into something beautiful.
taking down a false beacon for hope.



all i am is a fuselage.
without any engines
or ailerons
or rudders
or landing gear.
im not equipped.
cant take the free fall
cant take the changing winds.
cant take the awkward stalls.
let me crash and burn.. its all i want to do.