542. Remember: I tell lots of lies. I deliberately mislead. Sometimes I change who I’m talking about mid-way through a paragraph, or I make it look like I’m addressing people in general rather than have it be obvious I’m addressing the same person all the way through.
Sometimes I’m too tired to think straight and I change tense mid-way through a sentence. Some fucking writer I am.
It hadn’t occurred to me that any of this would be a problem. I assumed you had your own deceptions. I wanted to aid and abet you.
188. I feel perturbed. It’s the worst feeling for me to work with. What’s more perturbing is the fact that I don’t know why I feel perturbed. None of this makes any sense. How long have I been asleep? Are you a dream? You’ve made me feel homeless inside my own mind. I was already hiding some of the things I feel. Now I can’t seem to write at all.
I don’t understand anything.
14. You speak in contraries and I’m not sure which words I’m supposed to pay more attention to. You mention you quite like what I’m doing but then you only go into detail about all the things that came out wrong and I wonder if you do this deliberately to give me a headache.
930. I can’t say anything, of course; this was unfair from the start. I can’t just go putting defenseless people on pedestals without warning.
I wanted to write a story and create the hero from his image but I lost control of the nympholepsy.
A promoter for the âme damnée.
46. Put me back into the cage and take me back to quarantine. I wasn’t ready to come out yet anyway. I’m second-guessing my second nature.
Carry on without me and I’ll play myself back in later, when no one is looking.
522. Flaunting myself in front of you with my secrets written all over me like I want to be a piece of art but really I’m black market goods.
679. I want to narcotise and make it all go away again. I’ve wasted so much time with you. I need to sit on my hands for a while. I’m just too exhausted. From now on, it’s not about you.
80. I thought this was intimate, and special on its own merit. See, you’re exactly what I need… in my head.
An exercise in poetic inventiveness and creativity, just to see what happens when I run riot with the word-painting.
Was it a bad idea? I feel disheartened.
I’ve got so much more where that came from.