I shouldn't be sad
Upper class, white, money
No job needed, no admirable back story
No dead parents or learning difficulties
Everything is good
But I don't know what to do
What
To
Do
An entire future
Decided at 18?
You have got to be kidding me
Please be kidding me
Please

I can't remember the way you were before marlboro 27's
before  hypnotic sour smoke
before boys who didn't asked
but Iv'e sat for hours trying to forget
to forget the way frozen concrete burns
to forget your window seat
and the things I never said while lying next to you in bed

Come home so I can stop pretending I remember the tone of your voice
come home so I can remember who we were

Words. They are my forte,
With them I can make works of art.
And what's best, I don't have to look a certain part.
With words, I can form an empire,
I could topple nations, even form a wildfire.

I was never good with speaking,
Always tripped up, got tongue-tied,
Words are like acid, making the world tie-dye.
And I'm the addict, just sitting there tweaking.

And I know, it probably doesn't sound good.
But if it's all the same to you,
Who decides what's good?
Me? Everyone else? No, it's whoever likes it. It may not be you.
So let me ask, what's your forte?

Your mind has been
expanded
all of this time;

over-analyzation
has just clouded
your mind.

I don't have to like someone and I don't have to beg for them to like me back and I don't have to prove anything to anyone and I don't have to lower my standards for anyone.

I believe that the right person will come when I least expect it and they will want me the way that I want them and they won't lead me on and they will make me feel like I'm worth something to them and not just some ordinary girl.

There is someone out there for me that meets my standards and someone is looking for someone that's me and you know what? I'm okay with that. I'm okay with waiting and I'm okay with what life has in store for me.

a.g (8:45pm)

So here's the story -
Jesus will come down
from the sky
in a space ship
and **** all of us
with his magic
energy blasting *****
and we will all have
such an enormous ******
that we will all have
a delicious heart attack
and then
in clouds with lotus blossoms
we will float up
into the sky, laughing,
and wind up
in paradise
where God
will have shaved
off his big beard
and come out
from behind
the judicial bench
and just shoot the ****
with us all
and we will write poetry
and eat grapes
and paint and sing
for eternity
or at least
for a long time.

Euphoric visions
Frantic envisions
Body collisions
Heavy prescriptions
Enlightened by a muse that I was happily given
Unwarranted treasures on the paper was written
Psychadelic notions
Underminded by twitches
Glares of green lights flashing
In the artists’ painted trenches

Heavy prescriptions
Doses of living
Binded by ink from a tie-dye fitting
Zones flowing in and out
Lying down for the feeling
Eyes looking up
At the neon-colored ceiling
Ah, is this living
A euphoric disposition?
Defying immortality by a psychedelic existence
Back under...



To the trenches



And the heavy prescriptions