time.

(the first words to come out are always the hardest.
yet i am always mysified
by the fact that emotional control
can always be indefinite.)

ever tried asking god for food?
a pity this life lies in the arms of unchanging.
i would love to hate and be stoic
seeing forever untruth
and feed endless anger
it seethes and seers through and through
like dense nimbus clouds procreating
and devouring
the blue sky

how i wish that i could taste her once more,
and be left charmed by her scent forever

let me waste this time
and i know and i think
she was mine

let me waste this time.

so late.

once i did promise myself
that in terms of agreement to this channel of thougths
that i would only write in my unproductive
and bluest destructive state..

promises are the bonds for hope
...and hopelessness

its 3:44 am
here i am at work
this pus. this muck. this fungus of a birdshit all around
never seem to leave
this waste of an experience;
i cannot account for everafter,
and i cannot say that i will not nor never.

and why waste the feel of this waste?
one can only sense a good bath
in terms to cleanse impurities that stain.
only in the finest hour such as this can you intriguingly say:
to kill your boss
and finish your enemy.
break the spirit
of the worthless.
detach your soul,
and lose control.
feel less gravity..

my mind is so pregnant with undesire
yet living it makes an equity worth bleeding for

how i dream of today as a sunday i will sleep
and never think of anything after.

i want to kiss her so close
that i can taste what she ate.
i envision to delight
a couch potato's disorder...
a dreamless sleep...
satiety after sex...
still moments after laughing..
a cigarette after dining..

a beer.

weed.

eyes shut and

just nothing/
and no one.

just darkness..

unexistence.

god
im so tired.