s tamm e red;

If you think about anything for long enough it loses all meaning, i don't have that problem though. i don't think anymore. Like knowing that you are real and that you exist but not really understanding or believing in that.
I dug myself up from out of my grave, I don't like the word "dug".
Couldn't find any of my organs, my chest open, bugs crawling flies completing life cycles in the place where my heart used to beat, where my lungs used to breathe . . . crawled along road side entrails dragging behind me. .. the pheasants began to follow me, what's it like to be born to only be killed?
I get no reply. I realise that I have no tongue. I'm in full decay and i'd cry if i had eyes.
Black ambulance will be here soon give me plastic flowers; build my body back up with metal pieces . , the pheasants still follow me, their feathers now grey.