in the end of a spark, there is a void
where even god and space are defeated, trampled
an unholy mass of lead, laughs
and that's where i found you,
and continue to find you,
there, in the sleeping belly of the months
there, in between the waxing and waning
of your wayward whims with witty wackos

i stay up haunted and hunting for you
nostalgia of a time you "gave a damn"
anchors me to self indulgence like
some fucking thirteen year old twat,
dear dairy, today i was robbed,
i didn't see it coming,
we thought she was full of light, touched by god,
and untouched by man
she came in with three swords
gave me ONE and challenged me
oblivion seemed softer than
witnessing the execution of your senses
you walked back to the coast blind
with two numb feet
a humiliating sight, but you just
could,
not,
see,
it.

So I held up silver two times heavier than me
with one paralyzing but rhythmic point to god
I KNOW THE TRUTH
I know the gutters in which your mother shat you out into
and that you've been trying to climb back up the pipe ever since,
that you settle for the mundane idea of love because social acceptance
and your animal are just a little too fucking real for you,
Betty Paige and Betty Crocker are one in the same, to you,
I know the original font of your words,
and the mores code of your walk,
I know the truth

grass. wet. sky. green. lawn chairs. the unseen. temples and gypsy queens. forget about it. yellow wallpaper blues. fucking cause it's hot outside. forget about it. wet. grass. green. sky. chairs. lawn. seen un the. queen gypsy temples. and yellow wallpaper BLUES.

Just another box inside of a box inside of box inside of a profile with another name of someone you met once at the bar who has an uncanny resemblance to the first girl who sucked your dick in eighth grade. How good it was to be young! How good it was to hang suspended above responsibility, moving your pieces around the board.