Celery and cigarettes,
We're running towards death to prolong our longevity.
Not knowing where I'm headed,
My confusion comes from brevity.

We face our fears
and hide our tears behind masks of
sad disillusion.
Is this reality or abnormality?

These thoughts are aren't brief,
and they're
turning my passions into a new disbelief;
he tries to proceed but I
stop him with the thought of good grief.

What's so good about grief?
The indian chief never wanted to part from the land.
The band never wanted to part from the the groupie
and the groupie never wanted to part with ***.

What's the next best?
Asexual-ism?
The stolon of a strawberry holds this capability,
but the strawberry itself has
never truly a been a berry, botanically.

Mechanically this mechanism of
self destruction is much similar
to common day construction,
tearing down only the worthy attributes of land
only to build an empire
made of worthless sand.

Last night I dreamt and I have
yet to decipher whether or not it was real.
The way I feel is quite perplexing;
I strive to live in the now
but I'm always looking for the next thing.

In time I
think I'll remember
just what hasn't happened yet.