Residue

Let me not be deceived. Ugh. I wish I had a seatbelt.

I don’t know what I am expecting, and I feel that I am an inflation of an exaggeration of an ego and a letdown of math -metrical proportions… except nothing is in balance and rusted -welded shut. Bleh.  Seizure to an ambivalent day.  Who am I speaking too? Who am I kidding?  Beseech me. I have absolute zero figured out.  Carpe Diem, fuck you.

 

People change, they clash, they dissolve, the refuse, transmute, they rebut. They. Ugh. I.. bleh. Bollocks it up. What is it about the truth… isn’t it supposed to bring clarity, simplicity. Raise the ordinary. Riot for more, be yourself or else you will suffer with less.. eh. I transgress..  Sigh. Batman. Requires certain finesse.

Perhaps I require the right people. And I am. Left.

Topple, stand still and stop fucking looking. Struggle and I will sink.

Yeah, that sounds about right, ‘Life’s a Beach?’

Waiting for the loathing and used to the sinking the self Am and -indulgent, vexing, per petulant creature of habit rise and befoul the interior of brain and wrack the backs of my eye sockets and darken my thoughts, knowing that you are with me, not beside me.

 

Perhaps we all have a little mad hatter residing in archives messing with our wisdom, melting the past and present traveling through the world thinking that you know time isn’t at all relative, only to find it is… to find the missing parts of people. collude or educate, on weakness, trivialities and imperfections. Fire, tests purge for strengths and beasts. A collection of transgressions. Carry it with us, what is beautiful and imperfect, whole or horrific. Collecting people, souls you could say that, minds and motions rebuild and arches what is missing in me and in them, take and give. Give and take. Buildings and bridges.  Eh, nobody is flawless, the imperfections are prefect. Bodies, restrains, vessels. Build them, break them.

bleh, Falling distilled existential crisis. You build epic cavities in your chest- Where you reside: rusted out a bucket of grey, carry through on a pen a paper longitude where the world will not find a beautiful whole, part of them denotes missing you.

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