Dissasociated Ease
A. The exponential growth of a singular entity like such a girl is a hopeless mound reverberating in the wind like a spittle of rain hitting the lake it makes a motion but not a change in the ever present ongoing chain what’s the deal with people and their pain I have seen the highlighted life of five million men and lovers who facelessly beam at me and melt their way into orgasmic phantasmagorie as I slip away into an adolescent place I don’t mind it I never came here for the big show I’m just here so you can tell me to go I guess the magic in the way I move comes down to ones ability to prove
themselves against the odds of the same repetition coming back again oh god here he is
the man in white.
B.Core slippery like a mucus party held on a vomit birthday champagne birthday it only happened once.
B.2.I won’t even give you the time of day to allow something beautiful and creative to come out of your sobbing excuse for human soul and dignified hate mongering you fuck you fucking shit you can’t make a poem with so many cusses in it.
C.A long distance short term relationship with a ghost from a past made up of lost photos found when you move and you try to call that love you little girl you have only seen the chin of the face of god his wrathful brow would send you knockin you’d slap your thighs and follow your tail all morning trying to get back to that chin you keep going on about chewin off, light the match and burn the torch it’s getting dark in here I’ll warn you now just squish your toes into the ground like hot wet sand you never felt so dirty I kept you clean and now you’ll worry cause I speak from a place far gone beyond me like a space in your mothers tummy before you got the chance to cry out while we still had that aching doubt that you could even grace us with your constant wailing I tried to send you back but I just keep failing.
D/etc. Straws plastic straws placed together in a line look somewhat like how I can imagine a waterfall would look like. An egg sunny side up, the way I get it those few times I make it to breakfast, is the sunshine. I miss out on that sunshine a lot. But the water gets to be my eyes. That’s something I’m going to claim. It’s my poem I get something and I won’t say a lot but the water is my eyes. Napkins make me think of semen and then I question my mental health and well being, that being beautiful. Maybe there’s something wrong with us for not thinking that is beautiful, maybe that’s my biggest problem. That I think so. I think that napkins reminding me of semen is beautiful. For some reason or some other reason there is a pill box, I am unmedicated, as are you. Perhaps you’ve started scheduling your vitamins, I wouldn’t know I never pay attention. I think we’re old now. I can see these things, but I can’t see you. I wonder how I can look into the future and see my own eyes, the water, and still not see you at all? There must be a mirror in here. I must be alone.
I'm living in an unfurnished unpopulated (empty) three bedroom house, living/dining, kitchen, floor plan, with a matress in a corner and not much more and i'm just gonna say i'll keep on ashing on the hardwood if i damn well please.
themselves against the odds of the same repetition coming back again oh god here he is
the man in white.
B.Core slippery like a mucus party held on a vomit birthday champagne birthday it only happened once.
B.2.I won’t even give you the time of day to allow something beautiful and creative to come out of your sobbing excuse for human soul and dignified hate mongering you fuck you fucking shit you can’t make a poem with so many cusses in it.
C.A long distance short term relationship with a ghost from a past made up of lost photos found when you move and you try to call that love you little girl you have only seen the chin of the face of god his wrathful brow would send you knockin you’d slap your thighs and follow your tail all morning trying to get back to that chin you keep going on about chewin off, light the match and burn the torch it’s getting dark in here I’ll warn you now just squish your toes into the ground like hot wet sand you never felt so dirty I kept you clean and now you’ll worry cause I speak from a place far gone beyond me like a space in your mothers tummy before you got the chance to cry out while we still had that aching doubt that you could even grace us with your constant wailing I tried to send you back but I just keep failing.
D/etc. Straws plastic straws placed together in a line look somewhat like how I can imagine a waterfall would look like. An egg sunny side up, the way I get it those few times I make it to breakfast, is the sunshine. I miss out on that sunshine a lot. But the water gets to be my eyes. That’s something I’m going to claim. It’s my poem I get something and I won’t say a lot but the water is my eyes. Napkins make me think of semen and then I question my mental health and well being, that being beautiful. Maybe there’s something wrong with us for not thinking that is beautiful, maybe that’s my biggest problem. That I think so. I think that napkins reminding me of semen is beautiful. For some reason or some other reason there is a pill box, I am unmedicated, as are you. Perhaps you’ve started scheduling your vitamins, I wouldn’t know I never pay attention. I think we’re old now. I can see these things, but I can’t see you. I wonder how I can look into the future and see my own eyes, the water, and still not see you at all? There must be a mirror in here. I must be alone.
I'm living in an unfurnished unpopulated (empty) three bedroom house, living/dining, kitchen, floor plan, with a matress in a corner and not much more and i'm just gonna say i'll keep on ashing on the hardwood if i damn well please.