They Do not Entertain

Here is finality. In weak idea I surpass the addiction of socialising. You can join the bar, take a seat, drooling over breasts. No fame comes from being the fly. You got some job maybe, you got enough to drink, you got your DVD and a meal on your sink. I got something else bud, a knowing dick, it knows not to fuck my life with just anyone. It is not that I have even been a nun, or never caused pain, or never been you at that bar. I just grew up and decided to get away from the slop.

The poisons of the average man, the capitalistic nature, he grows up into fat dad like a slave to his morning alarm. He spends more time at work than with his kids, and more time drinking with his buddies than his wife. He is after all just human and weak.

I could get in my car, the beat up thing, falling to bits like me. Drive around for something to do and shit to see. Without her its no use, she was my crime, now I got no reason to spy.

And people laugh if you are scared, though they’ve never been beaten down. They never had everyone turn on them when they did no crime. They are the criminals, the gossipers, the frames, they produce the shit that carves a line in the friendships made.

I got no reason to even care about these fish. Like weakness I return only to wish. Nothing they ever say will make me grow an inch. They are shrinking anyway like a flowery kiss.

Sure it almost gives me something to fight, the darkness of their minds. They even wear a t-shirt saying love. I could print out a picture of my face and put it on the earth but it wouldn’t make me own the land.

Who even cares when you look away, right now they still have fuck all to say. They fail at inspiring anyone but themselves. Its all show and tell and bells that call a teen girl to their cocks. I guess they’ve been under rocks trying to mine a dollar.

So I’m off to classes, making myself a target. The old fucked up star of a chair. I care enough to hope that people wont hate what I wanna share. It won’t be easy listening in and hearing all the pretense. Face it nothing much is different than anywhere.

So cold or warm its all the same in weather. It happens and you can just react. Your fucking idolation of your cat has set you into bed. No wonder it is hiding under your couch.

Sure the grumpiness fades after 24 hours away. It is only you that sets me off. The mentality of some truck driver versus sanity of thought. You ain’t got the touch of reassessment of even a slow movement. Your beer will keep you there.

So cutting to base knowing I need time away. There is not one person that can keep me entertained.


Author: leeethomas

Visual Artist, musician and writer from Australia. Interested in Love and the Mind.

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