i don't sle--ep some
days because it's fun. i don't worry
about the sun.
i hear the echoes and throes of what they say
hide the knives the guns the **** breaks out
time for fun and ****
stuff should be smoked stuff should be ****** stuff should be
free. wait--
i'm not useful for me or you. creativity is dead.

this is me.
are you sure? no.

i don't know but it could be.

life is cosmic like that
you know? everything
is just ...

on fire.

god makes me
happy in a way like if mommy and
daddy were getting back together. are you?

i'm still waiting. i am still three years old
in brazil mouth gaping open at the sight of my first
airplane. it changes my life. now i am here ****** talking
about it. god are you and mommy getting back together?

****. god is a single dad.

so many kids. so many bad, bad kids.
i am so
sorry. but i am only three years old.

drooping like my ears and eyes
sadness
for holding
living things pressed to me.

come here. i want you here.
where are you?

i left before things got weird.
writing was always hard because
sometimes i forget to
breathe

between spaces.

what was life like on the
back burner? now i'm at everyone's
attention!

this won't look like anything.
you are gone.

i spared you all from this
well one could go mad in such a manner
--i don't recommend it
but i suppose i will see you in hell
after all?

things
coming from
things. i am
--trembling.