Ever notice that sitting outside yourself for long enough, driving in that introspection, that self-deforming taking note of injuries, always leaves you with that same sinking feeling and a jealousy towards inch worms?
Well, I have and that's good enough. In case you weren't already aware, that's what happens. If you disagree, wait longer.
Coloring utensils no longer make sense to me. I understand the form, the function, the basic operating principles, but I still don't get it. Maybe I should just accept that and mindlessly color by numbers until I find out what the picture's been the whole time. Or maybe I ought to ask the colors how the feel if only to see if they think relatively or not.

I need sleep.

Anyway, how are you reds, blues, greens, machines? How do you do? How do you feel? How do you produce energy from light? I'd love to learn photosynthesis, to learn to smile at the sun instead of averting. It's difficult to love a fire, but then again, what other love is there? Pity.
Do you dig holes to China as often as you dig your nails in? Must be hard work, on either end of innuendo.
Nobody stops to ask these important questions. They bounce "How's it going"s off of each other, question marks being a thing undesirable in modern communication. "Sup" does not warrant "good, man". Bothersome, troublesome, and worrisome.
But I suppose I'm ranting, as usual, though it's a little more apparent this time. No flowers to hide behind, nor little meanings stuck in bigger pictures like a girl holding daisies at the bomb-site.
Besides, if you read this, you already don't care for the implications, but I'm going to finish anyway. Nobody feeds you. Nobody hurts you. Brains can atrophy, too.

Never forget your toothbrush.