he's like a living paradox

shaking at the crack of dawn. prescription pills and the lingering feeling you're living the life of someone who isn't yourself. never sure if it's the things you take to bear living that make this moment unbearable. a synthetic scream is all you need to stay awake but the caffeine is all you have left of a time before the breakdown, before memories fade and the thing you're running from is right at your doorstep (well, actually, you're at his). maybe your blood sugar is just low but you can't eat anything unless you want to choke. bleeding out in a room full of people, marveling at the blood. is this the life i've always lived or is it a bad sequel to a good movie? and what's bad or good anymore when hollywood is all the same in its luxurious squalor? i don't know- beam me up scotty, i wanna go home.