Life's big long winding trails leading to the Netherlands and the footsteps taken into the puddles, the puddles that lead to ponds and ponds that lead to fall leaves that lead to them sticking onto your little ass and getting into your underpants is squishier than slugs under the wheels of my bicycle.
C o n s c i e n c e
is the swear word in racing through the every backroads of my brain, taking the trail to the person who tells me that it's right and that it's wrong and that it's horrible or absurd or okay. Alright. Okay. Sure. Nope. Definitely Not. Yes. No. Just Kidding.He'll never say it but he knows it's right. I'm not crazy. He knows everything that's going on. He knows that action doesn't equal amusement, and amusement just takes the change out of your denim pocket on your left breast. With the pinned memories all over your threads. The memories, you'll never live them down. The hair that dropped to the floor the day you shaved off your hair along with the dead skin cells, flaking through the air going up my nose and leaving me with a part of you for the rest of my life.
The alcohol on the cotton swabs/the cotton swabs juiced with alcohol going into your eyeballs/your bare eyeballs/itburnsdoesn'tit?
Save as a draft? A draft? Do I have to?
circles
^
talking
^
i'm.
Bury my face in the Midwestern dirt, along with the cactus of guilt and the butterfly of lies and the fox of fun and the armadillo of hate.
Sinking in deeper, Scared of the backrooms of my closet.
Stop, please.
[[[[[[[[O K A Y]]]]]]]]]
Most of the time, with the first few paragraphs, i get what you're trying to convey through what you're actually saying
ReplyDeletebut on the last few paragraphs i dont know if its a story or a message
It is kind of all over ht place, but it's still organized in a way.
ReplyDeleteI still believe you're a better writer than me.