How You Want

Watching Smith didn’t satisfy my anti-absorption. Lack of media outlets final. Cruelty is finances and this cigarette, my arching desires. How you want this, on top, on bottom, the barrel is solid like meat within it. Water is mixed feelings, the processed reality, like my lust. Fetching addiction like a pail comes thirst again. How you want this.

You Need Her

Here in la la land, all is well, enough, at least, it seems, at least, for now. You got these people saying, not much at all, living on, social platforms, the gossip starts, drunken, its not me, I can’t be there. There is no win, this life, no prizes, money is money, food is food, you win death, then reborn you lose, start over, another game, to win again, win what, your death, win money, win a drink or two, or more, much more drinks, on and on, developing a habit.

What I get in my head, ideas, that in one particular moment, in one place, in one instance, you were a hero, unknown, known, what difference, you can be this, that, but on a stretch of road, you were there, picked up a coin, made a wish.

What is it you need, want, have, haven’t. Look at this, a situation, uncomfortable, a lover, needed, wanted, not needed, its better to not want the wanted, for what, success, sex, parties, power, a boat, a car, a house, a big house, a really big house, a war, a following, for what end, to teach, to kill, to beat, to own, to have, to need, to want?

Seated and Willing

“Sitting here
something comes to mind,
you will only love her when you’re blind.”

Who said that to me, in some portal. Like mediums alike, flowing through, strumming like a zombie, the blues. The stomps of children below, a squeak, a Japanese child. Even Micheal Stripe talked about having a platform. How time is wasted here, writing in this page. I consider than only a elder of life can write the peculiar wisdom of the moon. The broken heart must have stamina, trauma can solve the nights quiet.

In my pipe, I have nothing you want. The old me, the drifting smile, that ego, replaced by this stuck in mud and placebo. I enjoy my brilliant ability to talk about me.

The coolness of human kindness is that gift of sharing. Share my wife? Never… Though my love, my work, I can give. The Rabbit must be doing something with the Bear, they have kids now don’t they? What about The Rat. I worry about that. My¬† message of the women trapped. See its not me you see, I am not the one, no one is. I am the one for you my no one.

What you can consider if forms. Forms of existence like blocks. Bricks. Making up reality. Now art doesn’t matter, not when you need food. When you need, few things do. The United Nations Declaration decided, not that all signed, I should be cared for, and I am. I am not blind to my failures as a man, though as a corner came I swerved out into traffic, and survived it.

You can love. It is possible. Then you break a few idea’s into pieces. The multiple soul mates. The coincidence that everyone you ever fucked was meant to be. Naturally we perceive our plotted path non-chaotic. No accidents occur, we make the best of it all, it all works out somehow. We gain money at least. Though really when we die we haven’t always done our best.

Lets conclude regret, why bathe in that darkness as you too victim of life had a better chance if you were advised away from circles. Those ‘friends’. If you had spoken wiser you wouldn’t have been a child, abandoned, fighting and frightened, unable to drape yourself upon a step. Chances and fruits, slip, slip away. You smoke up and down and concave. The measures are sleaze and beers. The larger ones already ahead in bed.

Now glisten like a orgasm dear moon. Upon me is a sex of alone forever. How disturbing.

You can spank that ass into a job. A knife in your back will make you work, it made me work, for the man. The business is hiding out, reduce costs and survive the pains. You can do it easily with your new found heart of gold. No gold yet? No wonder, you are not fit and able to create a wealth so smooth.

To finish the lines is cordial. A mere pleasantry. Left and right of my fence are my judgments. All equality is theoretical. You will die, I will die. We may like to leave a little behind on some shelf. Not a book on pandas. Something reveling in the creation of itself. A little spark of lightening.