Under Pressure

I have no mouth but I must scream! Now what was that, some game I think. Better title than the game could be so I didn’t buy it. How do I feel? As I described to Kelvin moderately fucked up. Which means fucked up but not suicidal. Hmmm as I recently learnt suicide is a human concept. There must be some human lemmings around then.

AgrHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
There. Catharsis on type.

It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming let me out!
Pray tomorrow takes me high high higher

I love Queen. One of the few bands I LOVE no matter what age I am. And Under Pressure is my favourite Queen song. Clichéd? But I Like it.

Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance?

And we all crack. That too is a human concept. In a sense we're like eggs. What kind of eggs would we be? I'd say Easter eggs. Laid from a chocolate bunny. Sweeter than normal eggs and an overall fiction.

Why am I so sick and tired of this life and living it? Simply because I'm tired of believing in things. Like the sun will rise tomorrow like there’s another rainbow after the rain. Yeah its all facts. but I’ve had enough. Waiting for the fucking rainbow. Waiting for the next beautiful sunrise when all I’ve got is night, a long cold night to feel empty.

Why can't we give love that one more chance?
Why can't we give love give love give love?
Give love give love give love give love give love give love?

What’s emptiness? emptiness is the Vast Oceans. Its the endless skies. It's something sure its beautiful in its own respect but I’d hate to throw a song quote from another song ah well hating something never stopped me from doing it: "too much love will kill you".

I'm tired, and I need a place to rest my heart (cry for help #1). I woke up this morning and it wasn't a good morning. If I get a heart attack at the age of 21 or if I find a hole in my heart I wont be surprised. My heart is killing me. Killing me dead, dead as a doorknob, dead as Freddie, dead as a romantic in New York.

Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care
For the people on the edge of the night

How do we in a Morden world believe in love? Because Its such an old fashioned word. The only thing the survives the metropolitan life in the big city are roaches. What’s the point of trying to be beautiful when its not fashionable to be. Maybe its just me. Maybe I got the message wrong and it was beautiful on the outside but a festering turd on the inside. I'm tired of falling in and out of love. At the end of the day its just falling. Falling from reality, falling from the grace I gave myself.

That’s where people on the edge of the night come from. The Jaded, the tired, the hopeless people.

And love dares you to change our way
Of caring about ourselves

People on the edge of the night like me, who lives on London time. My parents say I don't sleep at night but this night in London innit? Day and night has always been relative to me, relative to where you’re staying and I consider myself a citizen of the world so I don’t bother too much with the technicalities.

Because we kill ourselves trying so hard to be the perfect person for the one we love. Trying so hard to keep a relationship going. Right? Isn't it about compromise? Isn't it about growing together? Achieving dreams together. That kind of Mambo Jumbo.

At the end of it all I started living at night. Because days are just for sunshine. And sunshine is just not a part of my life anymore. It’s sad but I’m almost used to living in darkness. My peter pan syndrome flew out the window. Tore a part of my heart with it. But it’s ok. Hearts are meant to be torn. As much as promises are meant to be broken. And rules, are just guidelines.

It’s almost funny. No matter how graceful you fall out of live. It’s like a heard of stampeding elephants trampling over you. Haha. Some animals mate for life, humans do on an ideal level. And we are not animals. This we constantly remind ourselves of that. Because we are CIVIL.

This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under Pressure
Under Pressure
Pressure

I’m so sick. Of always telling myself this is the last time. Loving like it’s the last time every time and then, finding enough of my self on the tundra (to my disappointment), to pick up and carry on. One day I’ll find a good reason to kill myself. I hope I die before then.