in Brooklyn last night
i once heard this story about this man, a short ruff fellow that felt that all his tries to take his life by the arms and spin it around in a field of glee were out of reach. his attempts were painted with shame and guilt when these helpers, not friends, come to help, as they do, and they're off as swiftly as they came. so there he stands right, with the object of this affection in his hands. his life now spinning with glee and you should have seen how content he was, the smile on his face expressed it so. his eyes shut tight and those inevitable tears began flowing from the crevasses gliding along his cheeks like they always have. but you know how it goes, his affection and will are taken for granted by that ole object and ,of course you can guess what he does next. he smashes that object into the tiniest pieces imaginable. not out of anger, but desperation. in hopes that one piece will love him as much he loved the whole. so the story goes.