i don't feel like writing, so i'll just choke it all in. i don't feel like faking, therefore i won't let go..i don't feel anything at all, i'm too choked up since long ago. this is how best it's done, they say, but what do care, if i'm crumbling to dust in this faded life, it all looks like a dream, a nightmare might be, for everything is so fucking predictable, every spoken word, every breath...but i don't feel like wondering, where on my head i am, cuz i'm allright, even if it's all fucked up, and all i see is a shadow of what things used to fake they were, now they're gone, it's all done now. and i feel ok, cuz i don't feel a thing. and if i did, i will pose and smile, cuz that's what ur'e supposed to do ain't it? fucking fake and die!