these ends don't tread on means

it's interesting, to use chemicals for ups and downs, as i've ascribed and tired to death before. but the cradle of consumption is one of extreme comfort, even coming from an anti-consumptive station. the odds, for sure.

the dreams contained a pamphlet, professionally done, about how i have no clue as to who i am until i've shot crystal meth. the fact that it was being sold to me by a long time crush of mine didn't help. i awoke clutching my arteries, the ones that poke out opposite of elbows and are a constant sign of what-could-be. they frighten due to their critical qualities.
the following were of muddled friends, mainly hard floors vs carpet. again, a comfort issue between my feet and the floor. the atmosphere between me and you. even if it's miles or molecules, the difference is negligable and noticable.
think hard and stay still. rain drizzling around and onto me, but unfelt. breath extends to create a sphere around my body, again unfelt. only static and seen. sexual encounters came and went, again unfelt. thought i did end up kissing my pillow upon waking. it made me appreciative that i have such a flower pattern on my pillowcase, as i definately felt the colors encase fading fake emotion. well, not fake, but from an entirely-self-constructed source. yet, isn't that what everything comes from? dream or movement: isn't every origin of feeling constructed from inside?

it's interesting, to use chemicals for ups and downs, as i've ascribed and tired to death before. but the cradle of consumption is one of extreme comfort, even coming from an anti-consumptive station. the odds, for sure. and i hate the idea of repeating myself, but i love it in practice.