f this.
and that.
f the soul-sucking siphons.
f the **** ******** on all the things.
f the wretched that ravages souls.
f plundering the vast unknown. f the broken that breaks us apart. f the pain that can’t find the exit door. f the non sequiturs that never stop. f all the thinks I'll never get to know. f the desert that evaporates technicolor dreams. f the reams of unsung ink.
f getting up too early. f never enough sleep.
f having no focus because mind is always trying to escape.
f the architects of this unending industrialized violent puppet reality TV.
f not having patience for utmost important because basic survival in this free range slave menagerie is just too overwhelming and chips away daily at already threadbare sanity.
f the aches under these ribs always begging for more.
f the abyss that eats cravings caved in for breakfast.
f the knowing that knows how awesomely amazingly brilliant loving flipping mind-glowingly ecstatic and jovial like a MF this existence could be.
it haunts me:
iridescent reflective ascendant peacocked wings
fluttering phoenixflies burst from ill-fit cocoons
surfing air so ******* fresh
even the Lorax ain’t got **** to say - he’s dancing
with kombucha in one hand and a DMT pipe in the other
at the festival called, I dunno, Just Because it’s ******* Monday
and we could
love and make and dream and play
all day every day every year every life...
and I look over
at this giddy ******
epic little boy version of me
and I think:
****
I have to keep trying
keep believing in the things
because the thought of leaving him
in this world, as-is
without me
is the hardest thing
I’ve ever had to think
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
f this.
and that.
f the soul-sucking siphons.
f the **** ******** on all the things.
f the wretched that ravages souls.
f plundering the vast unknown. f the broken that breaks us apart. f the pain that can’t find the exit door. f the non sequiturs that never stop. f all the thinks I'll never get to know. f the desert that evaporates technicolor dreams. f the reams of unsung ink.
f getting up too early. f never enough sleep.
f having no focus because mind is always trying to escape.
f the architects of this unending industrialized violent puppet reality TV.
f not having patience for utmost important because basic survival in this free range slave menagerie is just too overwhelming and chips away daily at already threadbare sanity.
f the aches under these ribs always begging for more.
f the abyss that eats cravings caved in for breakfast.
f the knowing that knows how awesomely amazingly brilliant loving flipping mind-glowingly ecstatic and jovial like a MF this existence could be.
it haunts me:
iridescent reflective ascendant peacocked wings
fluttering phoenixflies burst from ill-fit cocoons
surfing air so ******* fresh
even the Lorax ain’t got **** to say - he’s dancing
with kombucha in one hand and a DMT pipe in the other
at the festival called, I dunno, Just Because it’s ******* Monday
and we could
love and make and dream and play
all day every day every year every life...
and I look over
at this giddy ******
epic little boy version of me
and I think:
****
I have to keep trying
keep believing in the things
because the thought of leaving him
in this world, as-is
without me
is the hardest thing
I’ve ever had to think
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