In this late season
I  cannot embrace the things
I loved in the spring

Fried interpretations
lazy goodbyes
Skeletal remains of grief
bearing down upon my
consciousness with remorse
My motions are devoid
The streets of paved
dead ends
navigates my life
to final disaster's grasp
Long gone
the fumbling foolish ways
The sacred divination
of youth wasted on youth
The prime existed
for no one
Just another night
of callous hands of the
indomitable spirit we thought
would be forever
I drink to the brevity
of early destinations
Before the curse of suits and ties
imprisoned the imaginations
running amuck
in the valleys of our
angst

I don't like to use the word hate, but busybody worker bees who micro-analyze what other people do or don't do, **** me off.

We're all different and have our own quirky personalities. I see those who single people out in so-called social circles. They don't fool me with their classic misdirection. Trying to hide and mask their own insecurities and weirdness. All to ensure that they fit in with the so-called norm.

I'm weird and I wear it like a three-piece suit, and you know what? I'm looking good! Attention all you circles, clicks, and social groups. I'll keep being me. If that puts me on the outside looking in, then so be it for that's where my freedom dwells.

©️