to the other places

my maker is giving me signs, mostly about my shortest of comings.
my dreams are quicksand until i awaken
my thoughts are concrete until we speak
my life is shortened by knowing you at all

this writing is being burned into replaceable
this author is having thoughts of the finale.

it's true

you shit yourself

when you die

you had better....

this video (if it works) is of my 84 year old grandmother...trying marijuana for her first time..

pretty epic...but it goes to show...youre as old as you let yourself be

no more having everything tomorrow, and wondering what it might have been like..

yeah she didn't cough...i come from titans...

-your titan

still more....more

once i thought i had it, it was time for first steps

i have written the same thing seven hundred times

the same sentences, the same ideas..digging valleys soon to be graves on a geological scale or otherwise.

stilll....more fuckery

i was told i lend to confusion

the teller was sure

i looked at myself

and had to agree...

fuck your

Spam

I know I could never keep
Your gaze
I
Know I could never win your space
If it's what you want, it's what you have
If it's where you lost it, it might come back

White puke

Where does it end? The feeling so overwhelmed, the spirits left so far behind. When you're puking drunk, when you're frozen sad. It all awakes, unless you're me, then it just yells. Top of its voice, blood on its vocal
Chords. Someone forgot to tell her it's a joke. Will anyone find someone who could hold on until the end. It wAs  all a non elaborate joke, but the subject forgot to smash pause. Becoming it all together, hiding from the feather, looking not so clever. Awash in treasure. I will not run to someone who might save
Me, I won't admit your power. I'll stay far away from your energy source so buzzing and pure. I'm sure the smiles hurt and the inches turn to miles. I'm frozen inside until you leave me as a guide. Kills yourself, send her off a cliff, steep ravines, raging anxious water. She might end up somewhere nicer, but we dont bet 

something about the sea

i wake up these days with less fuzz in my hair

a whole bed to take advantage of

and only a selfish reason to spend money

how it should be

the composter

is a sense of control ever supposed to appear? 

sure it comes in waves, moments, and rhythms....

but how did it last like beforE?

what was that sure grip?... the infiltrating warmth?...the smile so calm...?

was it a glance? will it stay a memory?

the same things i liked when i started this almost ten years ago...

i like today..

is that bad?

chaos soup served luke warm

its cool to be here...
thanks for having me, a room full of strangers
with adoration galore. yeah she's fucking..
and cumming from being alone

black sunglasses and sitting back of the room
physically virtually perpetually.
mystery in disgust,
confidence is left holding the hair back of tricks.