i have no need for change.
it's meaningless to me (in most senses).
so i plop $6.24 (exact change) on the counter.
he throws pillows filled with guilt at me.
and i hurriedly leave as he's shouting threads of vitriol that could trap me there forever, with my bags of guilt (what else do i have?)
commuting home is easier now.
we stand on the backs of alligators.
brave men fit them for harnesses.
but it's all good here.
until a beautiful women steps out of her house.
nothing good can come from it.
my alligator lets me off at my house.
i only have to blow on the front door at a certain angle,
my shelter has been charred so many times;
touching it might make it collapse.
my house is the only one with no electricity or running water;
noone knows why.
but i've learned to improvise.
a man on the street once told me, "it's better to be adaptable than to have no need to adapt."
i asked him "why?" but he was gone.
i unload my haul of guilt next to my collection of desires; seems fitting.
no.
i'll have them pad the totem of regrets; it's much more delicate.
and maybe if i make them more comfortable, they'll stop haranguing me every night.
every evening the floor gives out, and worse, nothing to hold onto.
but while i'm falling, a fish hook always finds it's way to my chest and sinks into my heart.
and i just dangle there for an hour or more ("where do i keep these things?").
the floor comes back (as it always does), frozen solid.
i don't know where it goes but it is not to the core of the Earth.
as per ritual, i'll give it painful fit of body heat;
i know where i'm sleeping tonight.
i don't get any visitors,
but if i did, i'd like them to be comfortable.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
i have no need for change.
it's meaningless to me (in most senses).
so i plop $6.24 (exact change) on the counter.
he throws pillows filled with guilt at me.
and i hurriedly leave as he's shouting threads of vitriol that could trap me there forever, with my bags of guilt (what else do i have?)
commuting home is easier now.
we stand on the backs of alligators.
brave men fit them for harnesses.
but it's all good here.
until a beautiful women steps out of her house.
nothing good can come from it.
my alligator lets me off at my house.
i only have to blow on the front door at a certain angle,
my shelter has been charred so many times;
touching it might make it collapse.
my house is the only one with no electricity or running water;
noone knows why.
but i've learned to improvise.
a man on the street once told me, "it's better to be adaptable than to have no need to adapt."
i asked him "why?" but he was gone.
i unload my haul of guilt next to my collection of desires; seems fitting.
no.
i'll have them pad the totem of regrets; it's much more delicate.
and maybe if i make them more comfortable, they'll stop haranguing me every night.
every evening the floor gives out, and worse, nothing to hold onto.
but while i'm falling, a fish hook always finds it's way to my chest and sinks into my heart.
and i just dangle there for an hour or more ("where do i keep these things?").
the floor comes back (as it always does), frozen solid.
i don't know where it goes but it is not to the core of the Earth.
as per ritual, i'll give it painful fit of body heat;
i know where i'm sleeping tonight.
i don't get any visitors,
but if i did, i'd like them to be comfortable.
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