"analyses" poems
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Fertile earth’s seductive sorcery
Like ephemeral effulgence’s effluent effusion
Can lead you to believe that it’s not a travesty
Like life’s visceral intuitive eternal is not lost in subtle evasive confusion
Life’s virile translucence reflects this glow
Like an aorist ensemble of interludes transposition
Can lead you to believe that you’re in the know
Like omnipresence presages omniscience’s ubiquity is existential exigency’s peroration’s exposition
Corporeally preternatural metaphysical mystique
Like a mirador bartizan tableau panorama
Can inspire us to rise above its critique
Like spatiotemporal’s telemetry incarnate is creation’s vivid intrepid cyclorama
Spectral verve’s liaison’s consortium
Like eclectic synectic’s conclave’s fatidic
Can leave you lost in germane compendium
Like terminus thrall’s apriori inclination is transcendental accession’s endemic mnemonic
Monad’s transitional majestic splendor
Like residual harmonic vibration’s resilience
Can autonomously evoke and vicariously render
Like rubato’s actuator’s prospectus revealed is orchestration rendition’s intriguing brilliance
Eidetic preterit’s aesthetic amendments
Like protractive analyses’ dimensional delineation
Can lead to cogent salacious enticements
Like phantasmagoria’s fantasia fantastication’s magniloquence is sultry solace’s ostentatious ideation
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Women
are not mysterious.
We are not shrouded
in cloaks made from the night sky.
We are not anomalies
or irregularities in the data.
Our nature has been hidden
from men, by men.
We have not been studied;
Not extensively, thoroughly, over centuries.
Not the way men have been, either.
There was no equal footing in
analyses.
Women were test subjects, when men were patients.
When we were "relevant" at all.
This pattern literally kills us quicker.
In medicine, and love.
In the office and the bedroom.
In the workshop and the nursery.
In the kitchen.
In the kitchen.
Some food for your soul:
Everyone is magical.
You don't need a pointy hat and a ******
Everyone is intellectual.
You don't need spectacles, white skin, or a *****
Everyone is environmental.
Just go outside.
You just need to be you.
Subscribing to the binary
and rejecting it completely:
One ties your hands,
the other your feet.
Be all the parts of you. Then you can feel
Whole.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 11:30 PM UTC
Lets not construct anything then
and bypass analyses altogether
lets just seem to be
foam that fizzes above the Gaussian sea
momentarily
then splash back to be pure statistical chance
So I see this guy stop in front of me and smash his radio against the lamp post
earphones still dangling from his face
and I wonder if he bought it at the $1 store.
It is night time and the street is dry
perhaps it is summer.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
Pertinaciously vituperative irrefragable determinism. Inscrutable axis of spontaneities’ imaginative. Perplexity’s prognosis to prospectus. Elan vital’s preternatural perpetuity. Cohesive coherency’s opaque opulence. Space-time continuum’s natural induction expressed as identity. Exponentially tangential imagination’s immaturity. Entropy catalyst blonds. Spaciotemporal telemetry tactician’s tellurian terrene. Protractive analyses dimensional delineation. Reflectively refractive positional empathy. Prophylaxis protocol. Objectified manifest's self inductive diminutive minutia iotas of interstitial edict. Graspy greedy stingy frugal mingy minions. Manumission’s indentured servant sail.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
Prerogative presumptive judicature, cantankerous cantilever capacity. Paradoxical dichotomy greaves, gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts, asymmetrical symmetry. Objectified manifest's dimensional delineation, intrinsic endemic innate opaque opulence. Protractive analyses accidence ambience acoustics. Spatiotemporal telemetry tactician's trajectory extant.
Prophylaxis protocol annex annul. Kinesiology kleptomaniac extraversion embezzlement euthanasia extortion, embark embargo extradition. Aura roan's rainbow mare's nimbus nimiety exorcism. Corporeally preternatural's existential exigence exodus. Cerebral cortex's ****** matrix's carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma, apex axis crux, exponentially extemporaneous manumission. Categorical imperative hubris, hectic duty deontological probity.
Astral projection's clairaudience clairvoyance. Tenets and principles, maxims and axioms, and doctrinal mandates. Exserted protuberance's edifice ******** Exotically ****** ethereally sublime xylem Xanadu sails. Erotica erectile errantry.
Fulham nuance ***** Formidable foundry of a foyer fracas. Harpy harsh hast, atrium attrition seditious. Oak tree ****** nails swarthy ******** swath swizzles and unicorn railway sails. Anchor pin tachometer troll wood harlotry's root clod rudiments, lightning bow hat pick. Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist. Transpicuous translucence alluvium aloof impunity.
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
the slow kisses that turn into hot breaths exhaled into each other's throats
biting at your lips thinking i can pull out your words. stuck in your head. with the blood i draw
the marks i make are war wounds, baby, and i am proud of each vessel i pop
purple looks good on you. what a ******* color.
beat beat through the silences and internalizations. the anger and the insecurities.
************* trample that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that makes you feel like you are nothing but the skin on your stomach.
you are not just the skin and tissue and chub on your stomach.
lovely, you are more than your stomach. and your ray bans. and your binder that does such a good job at pushing in what is unwanted and pushing out the breath from your lungs-- your very sustenance.
my dear, you are more than your eyeliner, or lack thereof.
you are more than the way you ****** me last night. and this morning.
pretty ,darling boy. i want more slow kisses that turn into hot breaths. more lip bites drawing enlightenment. blood slicking the tips of my fingers from exploring.
i want morning breath dreams still entwined with your exhale onto my neck. bickering mom and daddy.
who knew we had voices other than moans. who knew gender theories would cross our lips and *** analyses would be common car topics.
the "fffffffff" you make in bed also start the sentences of your fury. yelling at the gas station ****** who misgenders you.
**** YOU ************ I JUST WANT MY **** CIGARETTES.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
#**Leftist poetry *****
I don't want to behold your innards.
I don't want to be forced to view your organs.
I couldn't care less
about your perverted sexuality
or your identity grievances.
Your biological and socioeconomic reality
is dull beyond all conception.
Your unpunctuated free verse
is insult added to injury
and displays
your hatred of Liberty.
Your merely materialist analyses bore me.
There is no excuse for you.
You abhor all that is RIGHT.
You hate GOD, FAMILY, and GENDER.
You also hate the Lord Jesus Christ.
Therefore you, in your rebellion against Divine Order
are DOOMED and ******
however . . . I will continue
to pray
for your sorry ***
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
#…a threefold cord is not quickly broken.
(Ecclesiastes 4:12)
A pastoress once bore a name
which merits neither guilt nor shame;
Pentecosta Charismania
(biblical in megalomania).
Worthy of poetic fame,
a brilliant if unstable flame.
Sincere she was, yet volatile,
she brought it down, revival-style.
At altar calls, she could inspire
tongues of glossolalian fire.
The Devil she would oft rebuke
with lines from John, or Paul, or Luke;
a prophetess on holy crack
was Pentecosta on the attack…
Her nemesis was prudent, able
doctrinally dull—but stable:
Patriciana Presbyteria.
Less given to divine hysteria,
wisdom did adorn her table.
And her soul bore well the label.
No prophecies escaped her lips
nor prone to divinating slips;
this sensible reformed young maid
was made to have and have it made
Elect, correct in doctrine, wit
invested in no counterfeit
her pop’s portfolio lent her worth:
not less than heaven cashed on earth.
Mocking these unseemly heretics
swayed by neither sects nor politics
was Maria Della Romana
Faithful matron, primadonna,
loyal to her Papal rite,
she grieved her sisters by candlelight;
fingered furious rosaries
stormed the gates with St. Peter’s keys
beseeching Jesus that they turn
from devil’s doctrines fit to burn,
rejoin the holy Mother Church
rather than their souls besmirch
with further Antichristian sin.
(She genuflected fit to win.)
God is known in Trinity
but less through femininity:
His three adherents, flamed by One
like braided gold reflecting sun
are Christian fates: three tendencies
or triplicate analyses,
tripartite in judgemental grace
each one assumed, with zealous face
that the other two could not be saved
as sure as Heaven’s roads are paved
with wisdom’s gold and Christ’s pure light.
(They made a most amusing sight.)
Since threefold cords cannot be broken,
let my punchline rest, unspoken.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
Fertile earth’s seductive sorcery
Like ephemeral effulgence’s effluent effusion
Can lead you to believe that it’s not a travesty
Like life’s visceral intuitive eternal is not lost in subtle evasive confusion
Life’s virile translucence reflects this glow
Like an aorist ensemble of interludes transposition
Can lead you to believe that you’re in the know
Like omnipresence presages omniscience’s ubiquity is existential exigency’s peroration’s exposition
Corporeally preternatural's metaphysical mystique
Like a mirador bartizan tableau panorama
Can inspire us to rise above its critique
Like spatiotemporal’s telemetry incarnate is creation’s vivid intrepid cyclorama
Spectral verve’s liaison’s consortium
Like eclectic synectic’s conclave’s fatidic
Can leave you lost in germane compendium
Like terminus thrall’s apriori inclination is transcendental accession’s endemic mnemonic
Monad’s transitional majestic splendor
Like residual harmonic vibration’s resilience
Can autonomously evoke and vicariously render
Like rubato’s actuator’s prospectus revealed is orchestration rendition’s intriguing brilliance
Eidetic preterit’s aesthetic amendments
Like protractive analyses’ dimensional delineations
Can lead to cogent salacious enticements
Like phantasmagoria’s fantasia fantastication’s magniloquence is sultry solace’s ostentatious ideation
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 2:47 AM UTC
I attained that you are predetermined,
quiet and an ever stalwart girl
I attained you are admiring success
and you are precisely deigned
with truthful excitement and analyses each move you make
you are an expertise really,
and you have the ability to learn with understanding
you're introspective, yet you're introvert
Let me say you like September breeze - my month
That's why I have a faculty to detect a bigger picture of you
That's why I consociate with you
I'm sure God brought you to life just for me
Me and you have allotment in common,
and we can achieve the innermost of it
I would name her portia, your name of course
if I were to have a baby girl with you
from your intellectualist optimism,
I'm sure she would adapt clearly
I'm sure she would suits the two of us' s integrity
if we are a summer breeze,
she would be like a December beverage
The three of us full of smiles
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC
The odds have always been against.
What were the chances,
that you would be born?
That out of 6 billion lives,
mine would be the one you touched?
Barely, any.
Yet your "hi" was the one,
the one to stir something inside me;
Every glance,
exchanged word,
and I realized that
while still alive,
my lungs were screaming
"help" all this time.
That you and I would coincide
was nothing but a statistical challenge;
our love the analyses life is made of.
I'm here with you now,
and our lungs are intertwined,
now forever.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
There is a multiplier deep inside
an identifier that confides in me
and divides,I see
by the actions of gene therapy.
It analyses,criticises,alters and devises new ways of splitting out my days into a hundred thousand newer kind of ways to break my heart.
Adding to the adding of, subtractions minus then because I age
it vents its rage and goes quite mad the copies that it makes are bad,not up to standard,randomly it sequences,imitations of my DNA.
and in these clones of which it does not seem to care,
I am somewhere falsified
in there
more imitations,creating limitations in which I find that I am locked.
These pistols of my life were loaded,cocked before I was born
and cannot be torn from me by hocus pocus or intervention surgery.
There will be,
me and me and me and me forever copied I will be that which I'm not,
another dot
Spot the differences?
I can
as I turn into a copy of a copy of a man.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
I'm not pretend, I swear to god.
Whom I've only recently strarted to believe in, and only because I desire something.
And I am pretend in my Imagination, that much is true.
But my perception is scarred and blurred anyway, and what is real and who am I and who will I be? Do I really care?
I guess you know. Or you think you know, which is knowing to me.
But all this time I've know what I think is the secret: you are what others think because the you in your head is so violently different to the you displayed and for sale that only others can know you.
You are like a subjective and ambiguous bit of poetry, only you know the hidden meanings and deliberate devices, so you are biased. You expect people to see these tiny nooks like they are filled with neon, shouting, hollering: 'I Am Here!'
But they don't. Thy find other, obvious things, that you overlooked as being too obvious.
Then someone comes along and analyses you so candidly, picking up all the tiny bacterium you never noticed- so that you are more than willing to explain the complex juxtaposition of your existence, because they tried to understand. And admitted that they missed the grass in the field of daisies, they never assumed they knew you, they never announced it to the world with badly suppressed glee; that they had solved you like a childish puzzle in three seconds flat.
And people want to be loved, but I think they want to be understood. And we are all a little mixed up.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
Wise men teach us
to discuss
about how important is
to do some studies and analyses,
just to know,
where our roots came from.
So, I’ve done a DNA test.
Guess!
Are you aware
- do you really care -
that your destiny
is, as the wise men said, in history?
Don't you know?
Man, don't be low!
So, I’d enrolled in the army.
Funny?
I went to war
to save and protect my DNA's pure core;
Since then I do sins
and I ****
different types of enemies
with unknown identities.
That is my duty,
Isn't beauty?
Isn't fun?
But now, I'm done.
Guess what I think I am:
a cruel criminal?
a modest hero?
Anyway, nobody will see tomorrow
how I will vanished, surprisingly,
In a outlandish history.
Jan 23, 2020
Jan 23, 2020 at 3:36 PM UTC
I need a new friend
Because everyone is all about loyalty
Because everyone thinks rationally
Because everyone is trustworthy
Because everyone is honest to me
Because everyone treats others empatheticly
Because everyone is supportive of those in need
Because everyone will listen to me
And anybody will take a bullet for me
And if there's a hole in my heart anyone would go out of their way to fill it for me
Everybody's there to be a good friend but they're just killing the dream
Because all their character flaws crawl through the seams
Maybe if we could look at ourselves from a third person view we could rebuild ourselves through our own analyses
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
in the midst of powperpoint slides,
smart analyses and flash drives
stacked with loose facts and projections,
I mentally noted my objections
~ but never opined overtly...~
the mission colored green reigned supreme
to every white-collared stooge in the room
blinded by perks lavish and obscene,
we failed to heed that patented prologue of doom
~ how culpable were we....~
sales and profits grew by tens of millions;
stock prices drove bulls to record highs;
gross revenues ballooned into the billions
on the thrilling spin of blue pills and true lies
~ o....what a ride....~
but three stooges blew the infamous whistle
spilling the beans from soup to nuts;
and the feds flexed their regulatory muscle
flipping my gravy train from boom to bust
~ the end ~
~ P
(8/3/2013)
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
Pictures flash before my eyes
Words echo in my ears
As my mind analyses what’s going on
And exactly what it hears
To decipher what this world wants to tell me
And hear what it wants me to learn
To find the purpose of my decisions
And which passions I should allow to burn
But if this life was changed through deception
Then the focus is on finding what’s true
Only then can you live life as it was planned
Only then can you really be you
If someone could show a sneak peak at your future
How many times would you study the vision?
There’s no need to go back in time
To find out that our history can guide our decision.
Matthew 7:21-23 tells our future
And Proverbs 8:22-33 explains our past
But your Egyptian eyes can’t see the Matrix,
Can’t see life when this Earth doesn’t last.
If you really have love, you’d find its creator
To thank and learn its will
For cupid is just a distraction to the true God,
The Father and Mother in Heaven that fit the bill.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
I've got a common set of insecurities.
A wide variety of trust issues.
A closet filled with I can't love you's.
I've got a tainted heart,
Painted all over with cracks,
Wrapped around in bandages,
Filled with holes where hope escapes leaving me less whole.
I've got a broken mind.
One which over-analyses each concept of the world to avoid further damage.
I've got hitched breaths and broken voices.
Wirings in my head,
Cocked up screws running my emotions
Forcing me to hide and avoid commotions
I've turned into a literal device.
I've been given limitations.
Turned into a personification.
Talk about a huge oxymoron.
I've been turned into the world's biggest metaphor,
An allegory of what people shouldn't be.
I've been made into some anecdote.
They believed I would succumb to the notion of pain.
That I could be battered and tattered into some emotional mess.
To wallow and swallow the hurt,
To writher and turn hollow.
The thought assumption is that the final process of completely annihilating a person.
They must be tantalized and blown to smitherings with ones past.
It's the perfect analogy of a literal masterpiece that comes with a lesson.
However the forgotten loophole of meeting a person willing to stand by us has been casted off.
With the assumption our feelings have become one as machinery.
They forgot we could be Wall E and Eva,
We could defy the code.
We could stand tall, fight the pain and feel better.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
We’re no strangers to perceptible sacrifice
so, we’ve put all flavors of fun on ice.
Einsteining overnight - alone - is
about as exciting as a windows phone.
But I’ve been-to-the-show as a pinckney,
and in my years of parental-stalking analyses
the juice is definitely worth the squeeze.
Soon holiday parties will be made gold
by candlelight and champagne cold.
We’ll decorate with reds and greens
and surrounding ourselves with tinseled things
we’ll sing songs of angels and newborn kings.
But not just yet, no, not now - now tis the pre-seasoning -
a time of unrest, stress and testing - and God help
you if they’re not impressed with your reasoning.
Dec 9, 2022
Dec 9, 2022 at 10:21 PM UTC
(This is by no means an attempt at poetry. It is, instead, a piece of satire.)
Making Adultery Great Again
Make America Groan Aloud
Making Americans Greedy ********
Male American Grandiosity Association
Many Americans Grabbing *****
Mediocrity Actually Grows Annually
Men Acting Grossly Asinine
Masculinity And Grossness Amalgamated
Meanness And Greed Acceptability
Megalomaniacs Abrogating Government Accountability
Mostly ******** Getting Aggressive
Masking All Government Aggression
Miserable Atrocious GOP *****
Mad Animals Getting Angry
Making America Grow Antisocial.
Misanthropic Association Gutting America
Mistaking Accuracy, Growing Artless
Misery Accompanies GOP Analyses.
Misquoting Anybody Gains Approval.
Misspelling Anything Good Anytime.
Magic Ain’t Gonna Appear
Maybe All GOP Avoid
Meanness And Gouging Anytime
Money And Greed Always
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 9:12 PM UTC
"Like a tornado through a trailer park,"
That's how he described his emotions when he told me he loved me, the man who tapped the mother lode of sarcasm.
Pragmatic, harsh, carnal, brutal in his analyses and honesty.
Lyrical and tender.
A man of unflinching integrity.
Something still goes zing when I see photos of him.
~~
What the hell is this
Why am I missing you now?
We're words on the screen
But I do miss you.
Biting words, intensity
Sometimes my toes curl
I get that feeling
High up in my chest and low
Down in my *****
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
What happens in the unknown ?
Sages preach of "knowables" and "unfathomables",
but I perceive it to be a cognitive game since my attention is always fixated
on patternized characteristics and sceneries.
I've known and loved myself enough to know not to invest my thoughts or actions in impulses
Yet from time to time, I tolerate myself.
Life might be identified as unknowable but we all live and die,
consumed by a spectrum of unnecessary emotions and intense analyses
to finally, ironically, conclude that death is punishment.
So, we befriend God like deceitful hypocrites, seeking immortality and monetary advantage.
Still, many believe in the procedure of acquirement through encounter.
Perhaps if you go further for once, you might find human alternatives locked in unusual dispositions,
veiled, yet waiting to be discovered.
Death only happens to those who have merit,
and what happens in the unknown is never open to analysis,
for what stops death
is awareness.
Words Of Harfouchsism
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 12:04 AM UTC
can you take me to the last domain
\\\
the last one
the one before
everything
\\\
come tumbling down with me
flying skyward frown
upside inside out
\\\
this amoebic mass of
intergalactic introspection and
analyses of outward perception
\\\
this ion exchange
line dancing across an axon
don't shoot the neurotransmitter
\\\
this realm is made entirely of thanks
when there is nothing to say
\\\
it is my childhood that keeps me alive
\\\
I'd like to immortalize my friends
\\\
remember when we played in the sandbox?
\\\
remember when my father stabbed you with a screwdriver.
\\\
there was a time when all that mattered was music
there was a time when all that mattered was flesh
there was a time when all that mattered was eternal
there was a time when all that mattered was death
\\\
scaled fish curling into reverse spiral
it floats there in haunting grimace
\\\
the upholstered chairs by the fireplace
feet chewed by the jaws of a puppy
\\\
the china cabinet in the corner
I could see the reflection of your
disgusting indulgences in it
screwdriver pink skin
\\\
the musty mass of wires where your desk once was
where your life unfolded 'til the wee hours of the morning
sick and twisted absent minded distant soul
\\\
that ball of electricity floating down from the sky
bobs as a ball in the surf toward the kitchen door
\\\
terrifying electric forgiveness coming to engulf my brittle heart
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
In the beginning people called you a brick. But you weren’t perturbed
You stripped off weight, revealed svelte contours. Emerged fit.
You added bling. Bells and whistles unimaginable
Not shallow though. Shrewd and calculated
You made yourself valuable. Desirable
Everyone wanted a piece of you. I wanted you.
I got you.
In turn you gifted me everything I wished for. Everything I’d need
You brought me knowledge, broadened my horizons. Exposed me to the world
Sometimes enlightening, sometimes shocking
There was nothing you wouldn’t reveal
You organised my life, gave me direction. Connected me
Provided for my base needs. Oh the sweet ***** ***
But you were aloof
For all that you offered, you were indifferent to the price
For the good there was bad. For freedom, I gave you control
The world cost me community. Truths cost innocence
Exposing, I was vulnerable. Revelations rent me disturbed
As my go-between none could see me but through you
You took my connections and reset them. Manipulated my self-esteem
Self-esteem I relied upon
With you as my medium, misunderstandings became commonplace
Relationships once solid showed cracks
With disconnect you scrutinised these divides, and made them gulfs
Analyses became autopsies, on associations seemingly dead
So be it. I’ve seen enough. I’m too far down this path
I wouldn’t know how to change it. How would I even attempt to?
But I knew once
Maybe the problem is you. Your heavy on me once more, like that brick
I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, but there are some things you can’t
I must wrest back from you my connections with community
The bond with those important to me
You can have the world. It’s fame, flattery, insults and disgrace
I just want you to make a call
I gotta phone a friend
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC