The reality of days is not seeping into my being.
It all feels like poison, like fake weather.
In my heart everything has lost its colour.

Look around you. Walk outside. The coldness of winter is covered by the heat radiator, plugged into the wall, painted a dust musty grey, covered in sick plastic pale yellow light, like the illness of a disease.
shaking with disgust, when it should be shaking from the cold.

Everything I feel is warm soft comfortable, so how can I enjoy; ice freezing into my skin, the chilled blue wind running against my face or the contrast of steaming freezing early cold showers, pitch-black right before dawn. Its completely consumed but by what?

No contrast to light my soul, no colour for me to even take dole.
The limitations are endless, I think I’ve felt all I am capable of, and now emotions are repetitive and drab.
Who wants to listen to the same track over the lifetime of man?

To linger in darkness, and the early morning shades of dark blue are the only forms of reality that enlighten mine eyes and soul.
All forms of this material world seem  so much brighter when your lost in that dull shaded colour of confusion, revoked of new beginnings.

I guess that’s what makes me human, trapped in a repetitive machine of systems, sounds and functions, a receiver of different information an explorer of the virtual world, perceived in the eyes of my own.

This artificial light causes insanity; constant angels, constant energy, constant brightness, constant light.
I need a frozen ice storm of rain, a drop of pain, a taste of flame.
Something anything to make this world an existence, to make this world something other then a plastic game.