Past Due
So I drink and dawdle, writing away my worries with the bottle. Like a babe, I need my sippy cup; pink, white, red, the local ordinance prohibits the landing of alien saucers or cigars.
Late, late late late! A week out, then two… I enter the third and…
Oh no!
Nothing has materially happened. Anxieties and turmoil begging for my attention, that is for whom the drink is drank for in my drunken stupor I tend to work more than cry. Of course some times I just cry, and well, tonight’s problem is for tomorrow, a new day!
Oh the excitement, the tender sweetness comes with an acidic bite that tells me to curtail the pH in my stomach so I may sleep my barren REM-less 5 hours tonight in peace. Of course I chase the antacid tablets with pink wine of the earth, washing away the bizarre minty-fruity taste with water.
I ate well today, and for that I am awarded with strength. Of course, it is because I did not have much drink this weekend, just enough to stay awake, and then some more to go sleep. It’s a miserable thing to want to control, my breath. My heart rate at 70 after 10,000 steps. I used to rest at 45, each beat for a mile ran that week. Running, dashing from ruin to the next peak one foot in front of the other til the air is so sucked from my chest and thin above the clouds, I cannot speak. And others are saved from my raving, met with wheezing breaths instead.
I shant fuck a fan. What do I mean by such an offense? A chaser, someone with a crush, seen me from a distance and pursuant of me. I find myself in the corners of dark rooms, intoxicated, someone I had not looked at twice grabbing my waist, tasting my neck… checking for blood or sweat. The tears come later, when I am not the object of their desires, when my humanity breaks through the cracks of their fantasy and commands: I am here!
Of course I have no time to do any chasing myself, I am after it, that thing, the ephemeral door at the end of life that I can cross and say “Wow. What a life.” Sure with some regrets, but not many. With more lessons than victories and more days cherished than lost. I have designed my own game, I fraternize with the unmentionables, I cross and double cross, my principles seem lost to the untrained eye… I am.
I am! It is. It. I T. What could be meant by such a statement? Information technology of course! Assuredly, I make no references to the unmistakable reference to god, who of course can only be named as was cthulu, in passing remarks to the impossibility of its description. it’s.
There is some sort of trust I have somewhere, perhaps a cope for my lacking love and loyalty as others may see it. So many more see me day to day, indifferent of my difference. I prefer it that way. I would love, je adore
spitting rhymes exchange those dimes for bread and soup all veggies, committing crimes bending prose to poetry rose gold shine all night with all the love you send me.
