Guts all look the same on a table. Alternative title: Gutted bullshit without lines or syntax.
This is a creative interpretation of an entry, four days stale:
Dear you, So here I wandered. I caught the train between beers. It's usually yesterday come. Weak, I am, with the city. Hot breath, the least strange with regret. The aforementioned beer with underground tunnels. Crowded; I spent [it with] nostalge, [she] mentioned the heat that trembled with departure. It was [the] fourth bench on the left. I couldn't pen. Late, I left everything [in] the last car. Left was symbolism, though she had [been] taken. As I formed I felt like forgotten roses. Pretending grief. I received care... Anniversary. Sentences I was living with. Maybe they were twelve reasons that even in my beginning my feet...all art. It hurt. An anonymous supporting the silent drinking of the loss. I hugged intentionally the theory of Okay. As if she knew of her (you). And trash. And armless walls.
I took them and your early sighs.
I gave one to today (yesterday). Hungry were the walls.
..Soaked, I wondered. I asked. Because the arbitrary is comprised of the soft.. If you, myself--if it into [and] by choice, because because and chance of a hollow echo of you. If you remembered, if it mattered, or coincidence, if memory! The subconscious perfunctory was a transitive state; I began questioning fate, and thus history. Value and easy legacy is contingent on norms.
Surviv[al] can only be between translations. I wondered, poem or praise, in [the] solely subjective--about history. A word or acknowledgement. The chase of living without truce. The true flower of them. "Best". The kingdom of cognition, validity of sacrifice. There.
Us.
It follows that musical remembrance within tribute...but you, best. Thrones vibrate. I thought to something. Burn anything, in purity and state: New land.
I remembered feeling overwhelmed and endlessly fascinated by your skin's ability to contain the vast capacity that has qualified the being of you. Revealed into life guided each time itself. Natural laws, I touched [the] cartographers second. Bleed, [I] felt you; final map. New layers flashed and moments of existence burned pressure as I rested my knee. Then I remembered. Here is when yet. I spent all day against your thigh. That at this present, the pillars of truth--despite the slush of bad chance, breath in the warm time. I could be the history, existence and sweat of another day. [The] only surviving member. Share an earthquake as the guest overstayed her (your) company. The chance of poison in the disquiet of doubt, the foundation rumbles. Welcome.
Have you poisoned herself against me? (Negotiate).
Here's to you my love,
7.15.17
Dear you, So here I wandered. I caught the train between beers. It's usually yesterday come. Weak, I am, with the city. Hot breath, the least strange with regret. The aforementioned beer with underground tunnels. Crowded; I spent [it with] nostalge, [she] mentioned the heat that trembled with departure. It was [the] fourth bench on the left. I couldn't pen. Late, I left everything [in] the last car. Left was symbolism, though she had [been] taken. As I formed I felt like forgotten roses. Pretending grief. I received care... Anniversary. Sentences I was living with. Maybe they were twelve reasons that even in my beginning my feet...all art. It hurt. An anonymous supporting the silent drinking of the loss. I hugged intentionally the theory of Okay. As if she knew of her (you). And trash. And armless walls.
I took them and your early sighs.
I gave one to today (yesterday). Hungry were the walls.
..Soaked, I wondered. I asked. Because the arbitrary is comprised of the soft.. If you, myself--if it into [and] by choice, because because and chance of a hollow echo of you. If you remembered, if it mattered, or coincidence, if memory! The subconscious perfunctory was a transitive state; I began questioning fate, and thus history. Value and easy legacy is contingent on norms.
Surviv[al] can only be between translations. I wondered, poem or praise, in [the] solely subjective--about history. A word or acknowledgement. The chase of living without truce. The true flower of them. "Best". The kingdom of cognition, validity of sacrifice. There.
Us.
It follows that musical remembrance within tribute...but you, best. Thrones vibrate. I thought to something. Burn anything, in purity and state: New land.
I remembered feeling overwhelmed and endlessly fascinated by your skin's ability to contain the vast capacity that has qualified the being of you. Revealed into life guided each time itself. Natural laws, I touched [the] cartographers second. Bleed, [I] felt you; final map. New layers flashed and moments of existence burned pressure as I rested my knee. Then I remembered. Here is when yet. I spent all day against your thigh. That at this present, the pillars of truth--despite the slush of bad chance, breath in the warm time. I could be the history, existence and sweat of another day. [The] only surviving member. Share an earthquake as the guest overstayed her (your) company. The chance of poison in the disquiet of doubt, the foundation rumbles. Welcome.
Have you poisoned herself against me? (Negotiate).
Here's to you my love,
7.15.17