Kissed by wolves.

Urban renewal. It's a dream, no? Then why don't you just renew my mind? I feel old inside, all shrivelled and gross like an aged leaf. I need so many things, feel like I should be plugged up to multiple machines squirting obnocious liquids into my veins just to keep me awake, pumping life back into my deadened arteries, bringing spruce of life into my brain. I can't keep alive anymore, this is draining me, slowly slowly surely but surely. Today I put on my new tights and lied to myself that hey, I felt like a totally new person. New style, new hair, new clothes, definitely new perspective. But suddenly I look around and all I see is a haze of pain and faces that I can't ever read. I'm not me. I'm this totally blurred and grey image and phantom that believes that change is possible, when it obviously it isn't. I'm not gonna' pretend. I'm not even gonna' try to pretend. Next year will be helleth of hell, and we all know it. For some it'll be an all-you-can-fuck buffet, and for some it'll be the darkest depths of shitty hell. For me I have no idea what's it's gonna' be, but I know it's not gonna' be easy. Peasy like the clouds in heaven, or the down on riverside geese. If I could go back.

I wouldn't.