Better things to do

I have real things to do, real things to fix, real parts of life to perfect. I have real people to help. Real real real lost in a swirl. Beasts in a corner tapping at the bars I could swear I just installed. I don't have the energy to keep you in a corner, you huge hideous raping pillaging imaginary almost real bit of nothing--and everything--and nothing. Remember, remember the fifth of November and what it did to you. It destroyed you and locked you in a cage. Why is this not a happy week, oh week of all weeks why why why death down in the stupid stupid pit. The pit. Stay down there and stop growing wings. I have better things to do than fight your pathetic lifeless form. It has no meaning anymore. The real form is destroyed. Stop. One day I will grow wings instead. And you will stop beating at the back of my head trying to get to the front. Seriously. Escape out the back so I can forget; I've left the door open. I have better things to do.