When I look into the skies, I wish I were a bird. They don’t stand for freedom, fuck that shit, but because I can shit on people and get away with it. I also think life is as random as bird droppings; not to birds, but us. Plus, I wanna know how it feels to shit while flying. How does it feel like to fly? I once asked a random crow and it said “caw”. Miserable piece of shit. Maybe that’s what the crow said. That’s what I said at least. Is there any deeper meaning to things? Are skies deep? What about life? Shit gets deep, so I’ve heard.
“You become what you think” they said, and I’m thinking what I’d become. I keep spitting these thoughts on my pillow and now it reeks of paranoia. Sometimes I confuse thoughts for dreams. I wish they were the same. So I’ve become this; what is this? I don’t know. Thinking isn’t a good idea, I walk into the world to socialise. People shit through their mouths, call it talking.
Maybe I should consider flying like a bird, it takes me away from people. I look at the skies again, dreaming of being a bird; this time because they fly. Freedom still isn’t on my mind. I wonder why.