metalanguage

i can see the difference. i can feel the difference. like day and night, see? light and darkness, no hope beyond. it's the same here. just the same. star. dead star. imploded. starts die by imploding, you know, is that the fate that awaits us in some dark recess of the universe? we are the same, we are just the fucking same. (no torture any more. only for me) you know just as i do that i'm talking about myself; she is nothing but an excuse, a bloody lousy one. she, of all the creatures in the world, the one who nearly killed me. and you? i thought you were perfect, but now i see you fall into the same petty mistakes that i do. how naïve of me. and how funny. she was right: it never meets our expectations; they are simply too close to perfection and perfection in human beings is something that simply doesn't exist. i have known this for ages, and i've convinced myself that i want no perfection, not in any way. [throw them in the fire, throw them in the fire,/ throw them in the -/ we are not scaremongering,/ this is really happening, happening./ we are not scaremongering,/this is really happening, happening.] you're telling me more than you want to. everyone always do. metalanguage, metalanguage. we rise and fall. again. we implode. again. will we make a supernova in the sky? now i know that this makes perfect sense: something that will never happen. and it goes down and down, until the concrete wall, until the emptiness below. *slap* i guess you've understood now. you understood that i know. i know what you're talking about. well, it was too damn obvious. fuck. you've just messed it all up. i've just messed it all up. in the end it is the same thing, isn't it? and who the hell cares anyway?

(heh. stitching together months of discarded drafts can make funny things after all)