when the world sees fit to tell us
we will be waiting, open-eyed, slack-jawed, prepared to take it on the cheek but still fucking disbelieving when it happens.
listen:
stalled. perpetual state of. not me, child, not me. the continual separation i attempt forevermore, the moving forward. listen: the things i will now do will be done only to do them. this is not 'you only live once;' this is not savoring the day, or whatever other fun phrase you use to make yourself wile away your time on your things, be they fuck or flight, until - stalled, stalled - you switch gears and chugga chugga into your temporary housing, so-called 'finish line.' And then, let's totter out some years later, wanting to embrace the sun, wanting to feel, finally, ...dunno. Are we free then? Is that really what it takes, you have to give in to the patterns and then you're free?
I want to separate, and so I want not to believe this. or rather, i want to damn it, i want to say that youll emerge more shocked than before. i dont want to believe in happiness, or satisfaction. these things seem way too fucking fucking easy.
So for now, I will move forward, but I will shake my hips from side to side this time, though not with the hopes of bumping the penis-side of my hips into vaginas. because who gives a fuck, he says, in hindsight, thought he has hindsight on which to wipe his dirty palms. i will do this to do this. to move. to sneer at the on-lookers, and to deny that this is making any change.
Is it? Am I a foregone conclusion?
WHO GIVES A FUCK, AMIRITE YOU FUCKING FUCKS
listen:
stalled. perpetual state of. not me, child, not me. the continual separation i attempt forevermore, the moving forward. listen: the things i will now do will be done only to do them. this is not 'you only live once;' this is not savoring the day, or whatever other fun phrase you use to make yourself wile away your time on your things, be they fuck or flight, until - stalled, stalled - you switch gears and chugga chugga into your temporary housing, so-called 'finish line.' And then, let's totter out some years later, wanting to embrace the sun, wanting to feel, finally, ...dunno. Are we free then? Is that really what it takes, you have to give in to the patterns and then you're free?
I want to separate, and so I want not to believe this. or rather, i want to damn it, i want to say that youll emerge more shocked than before. i dont want to believe in happiness, or satisfaction. these things seem way too fucking fucking easy.
So for now, I will move forward, but I will shake my hips from side to side this time, though not with the hopes of bumping the penis-side of my hips into vaginas. because who gives a fuck, he says, in hindsight, thought he has hindsight on which to wipe his dirty palms. i will do this to do this. to move. to sneer at the on-lookers, and to deny that this is making any change.
Is it? Am I a foregone conclusion?
WHO GIVES A FUCK, AMIRITE YOU FUCKING FUCKS