There is a certain kind of sadness that leaves your whole being senseless. Pointless. It makes you want one thing: sleep. And the only music that won’t make you shatter like glass is Chroma Key. (Kevin Moore knows melancholy, I gotta give him that.)
All life loses color.
All people lose importance.
Even crying’s pointless.
Guilt? Fuck guilt.
Love? Don’t remember.
I feel like an astronaut in a submarine.
And every part of me is paralyzed.
The scattered bits of my consciousness are suspended in the whiteness.
I wonder what makes people move their limbs.
I wonder what makes them want to breathe, sing, fuck, fight and care.
Who lights the fire under their ass…
I am never getting out of this bed.
Never.
A single tear on my collar-bone. Tickling its way to my breast.
I wanted to show someone how I love my body.
Now I just want to sleep.
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