If You Get Hungry Enough, They Say, You Start Eating Your Own Heart.

Contemplating on whether I should sleep or write. Either way, I guess it makes me th antagonist t being impassioned w writing. But hey, many writers get by w just writing depressive and dark proses. I just sneezed like possibly 3500 times before completing that sentence, along w a sore throat and an indecisive blocked/runny nose - definitely having th time of my life on this Saturday night. Th only thing that would've stopped me from smoking temporarily in th past, would be a fuck ass disgusting sore throat, but even that doesn't stop me now. Fuckin slave t cigarettes and th taste of menthol is somehow so nostalgic, brings me back but nostalgia isn't necessarily beautiful in this case. I think I've got this figured out, not solved just figured out. I'm not supposed t prevent certain thoughts from passing through that permeable membrane in my mind , thus engulfing my conscious state. I've pretty much got th hang off pushing unhealthy ones aside, but they come back sooner or later don't they? Maybe you're just supposed t let it eat at you but learn t deal w it anyway. Because controlling what passes through, I don't see it's purpose. If they don't hit you today, they will someday. I figured its better t face a certain thought, along w everything else t do w it, for when it hurts initially, that would be it. There's no need t run away from hearing or seeing something after because it can't hurt no more when it already killed you. No running away, no controlling which thought passes through, they come back around inevitably. For he who thrusts his fists against th posts, more often than not still insists he sees th ghosts.