(no subject)
Everything is possible, my sick feeling friend...when the back of the classroom is dying. Logic ozzing out their ears tender drops transform red notebooks(70 sheets wide ruled 10 1/2x8in/ 26.6x20.3cm 1 subject notebook) into thin new tesetment bibles middle schoolers use as frisbies. They didn't know better, the both. when i new, knew that minutes become us yet we are strangers to change, great playwrites in our own right. red, thin red lines akin to bibles in spirt and spite. racing line, angred waterspout trapped in a measured bottle before the plung. stop to think before. he must have stop a second before watched in awestruckterror as the glee wept from his gut. ah the plung. he is now new, as am i trembling hands and all but i promise in the extent of my happiness in his yellow vial, in his gracful leap down trachea lung liver stomach down deep down acid whisps of vapor from his lips. I know he should be burned a blaze so he may see sea to soft black sea. the air itself might become him. and with every fire i pull into my lungs he might be there, i would push him deeper and deeper that he might find the blackest cell of all and redicerate...skylights upon skylight, layers of thick glass. when i read, when i wrap myself in naked lunch maybe he can see or can i not yet see? there is nothing like living. This may just be a possiblility. the ones left scared are the ones that can not seem to believe. quite like me...in smoke and sweat, blood about my teeth eyes lighthouses to led them in for those times when i can not seem to be scared. remember...with all the possiblilities, its up to you to smile. smile back with me.