he rides a pitch black steed

How stupid is that? To wage a war of attrition - against the side that's well supplied. Against the side that's full and comfortable and happy. From my side, the side of loss, and desolation, and starvation. Yeah, I can hold out, sleeping on the frozen ground, surely she'll crack first. Good thinking there, captain strategy.

Well that's where I am, poisoned thoughts, clouded, stupid, and bitter. Telling people to fuck off, and hurting when they do. I realize this, and will continue to cut myself in spite, until there's nothing left to feel. Yeah, it's a long term strategy. I'm thinking three moves ahead. I have to think, it's all I can do anymore. Entwined in shallow social nets of fake, fickle people. Everyone wants something to happen for me - but nobody wants me.

Better say something to put that all in some ironic meta-context to avoid coming off off-puttingly self-pitying. Yeah, that'll do it. Cause how can I compare my run of the mill heartache to WWI trench warfare? And expect to be taken seriously? Cause I must be taken seriously, to be seriously heartbroken. Which I must be, my dignity depends on it. I must somehow alchemize dignity from emotional feedback loops kept spinning by life's minutia. Maintain that it means something. The fight song of Team Downer.

There was a time when I appreciated the efforts - of those people - but lately, charity feels empty - well it's not supposed to be plenty - it's a bare-bones auxiliary for use after failure of the primary, the primavera of antiquity for the parsons-flashback crybaby, and rhyming like this feels easy and queasy, that flavor of insanity that reminds me of walking the wheel in turkey, could be done by a monkey, ee ee ee!

You know who rides a pitch black steed, don't you, you lovely loyal second person. That's right, the Black Adder. Black Adder. Cause the charcoal stallion wouldn't suffice. Gotta be pitch. A shade dark enough for one of Syd Barrett's post solo "career" acrylic paintings.

I talk to fill the void. But I only do it when I'm by myself. Even though I feel the void most when other people are present. Okay, this is the moment. I'm gonna do it. Talk to someone. "I guess we close early tonight, huh?"

"Huh?"

"I guess we close early tonight... huh?"

"Say again?"

Agh, awkwardness, agony. Is something fundamentally fucked with my vocal frequency, some genetic handicap? Retry / Abort / Fail. Nevermind. See? I was right to worry, to waver, wrong to try. There was method to my madness. Yeah. Now where are my reds and C drops? Ah, in the top drawer. Where they usually are. Some things, you can count on.