: imitatingthe&decon~struc_tionof*punctuation }| . in{rambling) prose ;

It’s always `me` on the other side of the screen, panting hurting and wondering why I’m here and what my purpose is and if the other person on the other other side gets the gist of why I’m there and if it’s of !!!any importance!!! to them * import tenses like I do often when something stabs me in the heart, but heart bruises only cause more blood to pump out which thus makes me even more invincible right+ I thought that was the case, but the court overruled my composure which leads to irrational behaviours of a free soul that takes the time out to sit behind {this side of the screen and ponder where she’s supposed to go from here} I believe my room is the safest bet yet dreams can attack me just as easily as dimly lit computer screens but there’s no cover from danger so I’ll bury myself in my covers and take hold of my pillows for ample ammunition over the incoming bombs of nightmares that befall me, enthrall me and leave me up for \hours\ wondering\wandering\ what else to do with my time\\\\ but sit in front of glass screened |computers|. It’s the gift and curse and I’m under the cloudy_burst_of_film and pixels and megabytes of crystals and seep and sore and sear into my skin while I listen to stories that break^^my^ heart^--_-_-____. Over and over again like I was Nelly and Tim McGraw and I draw on the ceiling in order to create an atmosphere of cumulus nimbus and temp----estu---ous clouds that rage and roar into my subconscious like a lethal threat only to uphold me and revive me keep me alive to see the way I found out ~blocking~ someone from the other other side was easier than I think.

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