"artificially" poems
You’re like a white noise slushie
swirling off my sunburnt tastebuds.
I can’t quite catch you.
Those coffee driven evenings have destroyed my mouth’s ability
to make something stay.
See, whispered lollipop kisses used to work
but not half as well as my grape syrup words.
Teach me how to fix my salt-sugar body.
You don’t know how many times those candy coated sighs
“I love you”
have crossed my artificially sweetened lips.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
there is a scene
where the wind cant be kept from the ocean
and introverts
are sitting
they are fishing at the end of a moon
lit
and artificially lit
pier
the only thing they have caught so far
is a banjo shark
and
they blamed each other
i am out there with them
i am reading a book about humanity
contemplating hope
and simplicity
where there is a world
that people pick a book off
their shelves
and say
it's yours!
or pull out a drawer full of pens
and say
take your pick.
there are places
where people are nice.
there is hope
in the tiniest glimmer of light.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
i detoxed myself under this pale sun
(you stood by and watched the
unfolding saga all the while
questioning the meaning of zen)
the original concept was lost
somewhere along the way
when i dropped the ball
on the forty yard line
(can you recover your own fumbles?)
every time i stand by,
the waiting is eternal
and i become engrossed
in the uselessness of my position,
pondering
(my love for this is a game of solitaire)
i am the ultimate in
irrational action,
a demagogue of dark
pathways and religious
zealotry, trapped beneath
glass floors watching,
trying desperately to
cannibalize my fingers.
i have smoked your toenails
and wandered away listless
at comments unbecoming
and salivated on the fires
set to displace my vessels
(i have seen you ignoring me)
in the coming months i will
rend my eyes and pierce
my skull artificially
so you will be able
to see into my soul and
destroy me more efficiently
(you will know me by the number of the dead)
i will search deep and
long inside this shadow's
shell, extracting this cancer
so i can cook up my
shortcomings and inject
them into a Ken doll
because then at least
i will be pretty.
i will feed my
chilled oatmeal to a
Cantonese family
that will honor me
as the ***** poo-flinger
i am for you.
i will cease to exist
on a plane with your
type, sinking lower
on scale like a rock in
the Mississippi River.
Mom, when i stop
growing up, i will
be the ****** loser
everyone always
thought i would
(aren't you proud?)
(isn't he cute?)
i cannot imagine
surviving your intern camp
after the tattooing of arms,
we will eat the testicles of the
fallen gods and dispense
great suffering on the weak
because of our enlightened
prospects and redemptions
(what do you know about pain?)
i will place my severed head
in a place of prominence, likely
in your bed, right before
i cease to breathe
my eyelids weaken....
flicker, flutter....
i grow tired with the
advent of your indecision,
the totality of abandonment
the lenses fog, fade...
flicker, flutter...
i have run out of things to sacrifice
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
It seems that these days nothing is real
The world around me shimmers artificially
Women will have procedures done to fit into the world of plastic
Men find it more simple to use cheep tricks to get a night of love
People on the street dress to make the illusion of perfection
Little girls stuff their bra's and paint on geisha faces pretending to be grown up
The sad truth is that,
Nobody is genuine anymore
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
an anomaly
few roots are many roots of the same tree
from outside I am within the bark that encloses me
here ye here ye! polygonal me
mocking you an apology
all a'Riddle first due to the very nature
my skin my leaf
contradictory, the roots they twist on me
the vines of me
the veins of me
my pain you cannot see
my pain you cannot see
double vision two no three
four or infinity to a varying degree
my body tis' of thee, tangled up insanity
of thee I sing
***** from my fathers side
egg from my mothers side
brain and heart formaldehyde
let my moods swing
polygonal me an anomaly
normally unnatural
and artificially indeed
through means of fabrication
and good malicious deed
confiscatory generous
and metaphorically my breed
sarcastically scholastic
institutionalized branches
from the end to my seed
divinely soulless
constrictedly free
interestingly boring
grammatical greed
desperately selfish
slowly with speed
movingly static
hungry to feed
constantly moving
polygonal anomaly
how many sides
to a coin always flipping
to a coin always spinning
polygonal me
transparency
just
like
a
tree
there are many sides to a story
through shadows cannot see
the interlocking counterparts
elbows, knees, branches on trees.
who says they can't get along?
I say they have to disagree.
why can't they just let it be?
why don't you be you?...
and me be me me me me.
Just like a tree
whistling and singing
chirping with glee
waking me up at 6:30
though shadows cannot see
an anomaly sometimes
they play tricks on me
polygonal me
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 3:10 AM UTC
O Babylon! Your God is a sport-utility vehicle, a VCR, and a two-car garage!
You delight in images of killing and artificially-large-breasted women!
Your arteries are clogged with Big Macs and a thousand pieces of Kentucky-Fried Chicken!
Your God is Technology. Your God is Progress.
Your skyscrapers rise to the heavens! Your astronauts fly to the moon!
You clone sheep! alter genes! make a mountain into a parking lot!
Your fields flower! Your grain-bins groan under the weight of the ripe corn!
But the land of your soul is a desolation.
O God of Henry Ford, the Wright Brothers, and Bill Gates,...
All the nations adore Thee!
(Pretty soon they'll be ordering Papa John pizza by cell phone in New Guinea....)
Your God is Mammon.
After the movies, after the Quarter-pounders-with-cheese, super-size fries, and a large Coke,
after the evening news, the Hostess cupcakes, golf, beers, and swimming 20 laps,
the hunger will be the same as the day you first felt it, O Babylon!
the thirst of the soul, O Babylon!
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:24 PM UTC
The lines you roared
The people you urged
The crimes you saw
Crimson tridents on the road
So close to unleash the beast
Tempt me again, then regret
Or put complete blame on me
Ever felt wisdom with pride?
Difference between me and you
I reckon violence will boomerang
Naturally or artificially, you don't
Count the debts you'll face in hell
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 6:53 AM UTC
Born of barrows blood and acorn goodness:
honest as nature and prodigious as her harvest.
Cursed with cowardliness, blessed with bulk
but an irksome intellect invariably finds fault.
The pain of creation softened by canine affectation,
and artificially-altered perception.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 2:59 PM UTC
Being human can be incredibly painful
But to be human...to truly feel like a realized human being
is to feel powerful...is to feel an out-of-body experience
because we realize that we are beautiful, brilliant...
and deserve to feel what it means to
TO BE FULLY HUMAN and nothing less.
That our dreams, our aspirations, and our capabilities
cannot be restricted by artificially constructed restrictions.
And because of that we cannot allow under any circumstance
for the humanity of anyone to be negated.
That every inhale we take without helping legitimize the humanity of one more,
Is further securing the chaos which threatens our own.
That to love another human being,
no matter how strange or familiar, difficult or easy
Is to really understand the profoundness of our own humanity...
Is to love ourselves.
And because of that we cannot fathom a world
Where anyone is negated the ability to love.
Whereby the consciousness of our fullest potential
Understands no artificial restrictions
Knows no terror, war,or attack that can silence the eternal soul of its truth
And can only conceive of a world where everyone's humanity is legitimized
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
One of Edna's "randyhornbag" collection of erotica.
i am a ******* *****
and that's not a metaphor
it's the total ******* truth
i'm a ********** forsooth
it's what i do for work
i'll **** or **** or ****
off any man or beast
i don't care in the least
young boys old men fat freaks
i get them all most weeks
i'll have any kind of ***
cash only and no cheques
i suppose you think it's funny
to **** fat men for money
to have countless alien *****
often stinking like old socks
shoved up my pretty *****
kept artificially juicy
to make the fools imagine
i'm oozing jissom for them
it's not the best of jobs
******* total strangers' knobs
pretending to like vile men
when if i could i'd flay them
i rarely **** for pleasure
i no longer have the measure
of love and tender feeling
of kisses phlegm congealing
my private sexlife's twisted
i love being thrashed and ******
i crave darkest degradation
masochistic ************
so if you think it's funny
******** men for money
let me be quite blunt
if you think so you're a ****
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
As you may know, I continue to collaborate with other poets here, most frequently with Helen. Below is a poem of hers that I have edited and reworked, her original notes to me are contained in the notes section below. So if you like it, tell Helen. If you "choke" on it, tell the editor. That's why they pay us the big bucks! So, send me your scraps yearning to be free...
I am choking
on words.
chest clogged,
throat seized,
as I await to deplane,
when I will perforce,
speak these words,
but for now, held in a
prison garb of my own design.
organs can be donated,
the broken heart,
the shattered liver,
the kidney failing,
eyes for the blind,
lungs for the breathless.
the human psyche
is not replaceable.
I need a mind of titanium,
will gladly settle for either the
Tin-man's heart, or
Cowardly Lion's courage,
both, too much too hope for...
but they are not sold at the airport shops.
perhaps my unseen editor
will accompany me,
hand firmly on my writing elbow,
guiding, refining, selecting
les mot parfait...
How come?
How come everything
inside a body can be replaced
so artfully, artificially
except words inside a broken mind?
I cannot get these words out,
who can transplant a soul?
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
Live for the weekend
Watch TV
Live for the weekend
Watch TV
Out on the town for the weekend
Watch TV Watch TV
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
Escape into your escapism
Get lost in your escapism
Trust in your escapism
Get trapped into escapism
Escape from your escapism
Escape from your self made prison
Escape the acceptance that's arisen
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
We're
Drones Robotics
Clones on antibiotics
Zoned hypnotic
Habitually ******
Artificially exotic
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
You're watching your *** life on Tv
A package holiday - pretend to be free
Post on Facebook how life should be
Focus your kids on getting a C
Lurching towards you - Hollow eyes
Pale Gaunt - Fed on lies
In systems that we all despise
Because you sat at home on your own
Or In a pub over grub
Or on a phone having a moan
Or a coffee shop pontificating
Or a lecture cleverly debating
Or an artists studio 'creating'
But you didn't ******* do anything did you?
You thought about it
You talked about it
You sat and maybe wrote about it
But you actually DID nought about it
Why does nobody do anything?
Why does nobody do anything?
What if we in our liberal pomposity
Followed up our curiosity
And put an end to a small atrocity
Instead of deliberating the big ones
Stop ******* telling people they're wrong and get off your **** and prove it.
Do something.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
You get back home weary from shocks,
You being impotent is not your tension,
But how two kids at home call you dad,
Basis of all your tensed thoughts is this,
Your wife still has two kids if not yours,
Your wife has the explanation to make,
May God curse the lying life of your wife.
You just get back home & draw your gun,
You load the fresh magazine in midnight,
Breathing long you put your feet silently,
But the door is ajar and she is fast asleep,
Your (or hers) children in the next room,
Your fingers tremble & you've flashback,
Many memories zoom through your mind.
You decide to use the pillow as a silencer,
You now calmly hold the pillow over her,
Breathing cautiously now you are unsure,
But her infidelity isn't what you expected,
Your heart tells you to introspect yourself,
Your mind changes after thinking about it,
Multiple times yourself have been cheating.
You pause & change your mind about her,
You have the gun now point at your own,
But now you see her stirring in her sleep,
Breaking from her sleep for water she is,
Your presence scares her to the hell now,
Your gun pointed at your heart she sees,
Mighty strength she gathers to ****** it.
You grunt and push her away from you,
You whisper, "Why did you cheat me?"
Before she replies to your weird charge,
Barked again yourself in a low whisper,
***"Your children are not mine now I know,"
"Your husband is technically impotent!"***
Maybe she understood everything now.
You remember that she is a policewoman,
You see her unload the gun and discard it,
***"The children - both - are test tube babies,"
"The **** was mine and fertilized in vitro,"
"Your ***** was used artificially as well,"
"Your DNA from your own hair was used,"***
Might have she followed the procedure.
It seems possible & you regret your actions,
But she just smiles & forgives you heartily,
***"It's okay darling, I kept it secret from you,"
"It's really a cute face you've put up now,"***
You now wish to sink down into the floor,
"You would forgive me for doubting you,"
Must be an angel to let you sink your head into her *****
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
blondes have more fun
they’re social butterflies
bright, beautiful, and brave
not caring about what people have to say
expected to be bold and speak their minds
to be out every friday night
as if the pigment in your follicles defines you
the lighter your hair, the more outgoing you are
the louder you are
the more you let loose
because blondes have more fun
i’m a blonde
artificially
i feel as if i stand out more
yet i’m looked at as ‘dumb’
because, the bleach in my hair is a big sign that there’s nothing going on in my mind
right?
i’ll confess, i don’t understand chemistry
but i make all As and Bs
with an occasional C
not because i’m blonde
but maybe if i went back to my darker roots
then i’d have better grades
but for now
i’m a blue eyed girl with blonde hair
which means i’m probably a cheerleader
and that i might have a boyfriend with more muscle than he knows what to do with
along with countless friends
and everything i could ever ask for
but you couldn’t be more wrong
blondes aren’t always more fun
blondes aren’t always dumb
blondes can be empowering women
business women
strong women
or even just women
the color of my hair doesn’t determine who i am
i determine who i am
and that’s more fun than being blonde ever will be
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 1:06 AM UTC
the most dangerous person I know was a beautiful girl,
with a singing voice like white chalk:
when you came into contact with that voice, even momentarily
you found your fingertips lightly dusted
and the taste of chalk in your lungs
She settled on you.
This girl left pieces of herself everywhere--
anchors.
to things she knew should be
important to her, but instead she couldn't find the commitment
enough to make them important.
she could only find
fragments of a conversation
about anything
that affirmed her
self-importance
or made her feel
important.
even if only for a second.
she disregarded the pain that lumbered just beneath those
glimmering retinas,
only to step closer and see the light
was just a reflection of whatever stood before her.
so she anchored herself to humans.
she chose to connect with people
based on the "mutual" stars in
their eyes.
and how they felt important.
she anchored herself to
the expectations held aloof in
the eyes of her unattached lover.
Eyes that swam with the imaginary meetings and hopefulness
to obtain girls not her.
and so she swam.
at first, she treaded water like it the thing to do in the eyes of your
"lover"
then, the ropes she tied to herself
to make anchors began to drag her down.
the people she anchored herself to reached out as far as the cold depths would allow
but she refused to tread the last few feet and take hold
of a shoreline filled with
finite praise for not drowning herself.
The most dangerous girl I knew
made drowning the important thing.
and now she waits, sunken and waterlogged
with the weight of eyes that are not hers.
The eyes of her lover, who sparkle artificially
as the light is just a reflection of whatever stands in front of him.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 3:18 AM UTC
the wrong atmospherics of transmission
move in uninvestigated chaotic archives
red and pink turbulent storms swarm across
deep space frequencies in imaginative
currents of pulsars
that are translated into phases
each represented in diverse
conflicting modes of expression
in obsessive grooves of consciousness
cut up components of recycled narratives
audibly fixating on vibrations
that sound across the universe
in diffused spirals of manic fluctuations
converting archaic symbols into equivalents
of dust surfaces that oxidise in intermittent epochs
and deposit a rediscovered earth
an expansive transferable construction
of accidental providence
that allows for expression in artificially generated realities
hallucinated images that float
across the consciousness of the cosmos
producing visions that punctuate rational thought
become preoccupied with the conception
of interplanetary transpeciation
counting the chronological diversity
of those that occupy the black, blank
vacuum of space
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
It's happened again
cupid has cycled his laughing cast
Without discretion, displayed in viscous currents
One man finds a mate
through an easy game of chase the scar,
Lazy frowning and statued emotion
Her eyes sparkled in such a kindred flame
Artificially, just as the sad boy does
rebounding desperation on both parts
He as the hermit,with a minimal compassion
She played the role for all affection
Drove her half mad, cutting lonely
A last chance to see him to the dance
pupils strayed off, eating the smoke
For a couple months, I think, maybe more
Distance was death for the loving seperation
Caring is old, the premature pleasure maker
Chakra cats and Vampire disease
Chased with blood, drunk on a rhapsody
The girl dumped the filthy ****** baggage
Humbly fornicating with a more fitting fellow
Similar in grace and taste
Aspirations and dependence on denser levels
Red to black or black and blue
With a new foundation built
Companion demolition, scheduled for certain
Love sued the suit and Brothers close at heart
It's happened again
Cupid has cycled his laughing cast
Without discretion, displayed in viscous currents
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
he had knowing dreams of where he was going
all along upward he was swiftly growing
the always certain hand of fate was ever sowing
fields of poppies concealing secrets of the knowing
soon he forgot to remember that which he once knew
softly trading certainty for a comforting clue
now he is on his back staring at the blue
with eyes forever closed to that which is true
O’ how will his muddled gaze ever be wrested
from the flickering box on which it’s nested
given comfort as he is artificially breastfed
hate those people and love these things is where he is led
so the cycle continues to turn
until we coach the match how to burn
birthing a new world from the communal urn
ashes to ashes and with so much to learn
quietly he drops a stitch and skips a beat
out of line, missing steps of society's feet
absent fear of plans left incomplete
he renders acceptance obsolete
he stands alone
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 11:43 AM UTC
Step in and rest wearily
Your troubles here are the best
Every image your fear does possess
Such pretty illusions
Poses and all sweet scents
Where too are all the roses
And the thorns they don't bite
When you're safe from all your doubts
In this room comfort seeps deceptively
Till your dead
From the inside
Out is but a grave
In the comfort zone
Artificially boxed restrained
Air short getting shorter waning
All the once pretty flowers
Their colours run down dreary
Till sludge is climbing up your legs
No lock no key but deception
Has claimed another chapter
Of what life may still claim
Time for motion of ones will
What does willingness will for
With some distressing emotion
A heartful of determination
Shall give rise to some clever
Quick thoughts in desperation
Beware of your next step
That such is beyond the
Zone...
Of deathly comfort!!!
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
READ THE NOTE AT THE BOTTOM
Sweet one I love.
Dream date.
Made conversation.
First kiss.
Dream one I love,
Be bold.
Wow me.
Hug me.
Kiss me.
Love
Me.
I <3 you.
For you... not significant?
One I love
Loved me
Artificially.
Love
May inadvertently become
Lodged
In the throat
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 5:12 PM UTC
Instagram made me realize just how many fish there are in the sea
You always hear the saying but never believe it's truth within the heat of the moment. The question is, is this good or is this bad?
When you realize just how many beautiful people there it assures you, for a moment at least. That mr right or mrs right is out there and my are they beautiful. I see her now perfect from her lips to her nips. From her hair to the way she promptly sits in her chair. But something else happens, it shoots at your own ego and kills your self assurance. You start to think well maybe I'm not as hot as I think I am. How could I ever be with any of these people. Or worse, I don't like her because the women in front of me can't conspire to the women I see on Instagram, photoshopped to the waist, spray tanned out, teeth artificially whitened, makeup two inches thick and beyond reality. And we're caught, trying to play beautiful and trying to chase beautiful... I don't know it confuses me and makes me mad. I just hope to find someone real and someone more beautiful on the inside than they are on the out - as cliché as that sounds. But really it's something Instagram can't show. Which is why I should probably delete Instagram.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
The zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones
It is time to dive in to some binary fun
Just the zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones
We're not ready for this
But too late
It's begun...
In this game that we play
There's no way can be won
And no doubt that someday
All mankind is outdone
But "no way" they will say
"Just relax and have fun"
'Cause there's always a way
Not the absolute 'none'
Good luck never can stay
Of the minimum one
An anomaly may
Find a way to outrun
All the safeguards in place
What you spin is now spun
This new enemy faced
Can't be beat with a gun
Giving birth to a race
Artificially one
That's not from outer space
People smart are now dumb
We can't keep up the pace
So we will be outrun
Relegated to slaves
Or perhaps we're just "done"
Nothing more than a waste
Have a purpose that's 'none'
Masses taking up space
Can not hide or outrun
Destined to be erased
Yet somehow we're still stunned
Ending the human race
For A.I. has now won
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC
Poured a cup of fruit juice to see it was only 5%
Artificially coating life, never tasting the truth of what it meant.
My motivation space in my brain is vacant, and open for rent.
Sorry if you have to share it with a guy on the inside that's seemingly hell-bent.
Parents shed your clarity and wisdom, as oppose to letting your anger fill them.
Screams in dreams rip me out of my fantasy right at the seams, and maybe,
Maybe I'll never know what it means.
Some could view me right now as apathetic,
but those are the same that see my words as babble, because they just don't get it.
I think I've stopped caring about the criticism,
Because I stay within the confines of my individualism.
Your judgements put walls around me, restrictions I don't need.
I realize we're different, down to the music on which we feed.
No one wants to see how we're similar,
Always casting categories to the unfamiliar.
***** the false idea that you live up to
The only way out is being Through, with all the ********
No more wrongdoings to persist.
I could speak forever, and for those who've listened, I hope you get the jist.
I'm ****** to remain in a state with people of a similar fate because we let it.
You must have it made if you're one who doesn't get it.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC
We are solutions and sources..
Much like a strange sunlight..
We're odd with so many symptoms..
We may be falling apart..
We may feel powerless.. We are not..
We are who we are..
If we breathe, compassion is still immortal..
Only way to see truth is to not be part of it
All a lie needs to be real is acceptance
Our world is falling apart. Your money?
Its a lie that is killing us
We drown in economy, in overconsumption
You never take a big enough step back
You let history be an eternal truth
You never question validity..
Open up a history book
Our main problem is..
You actually do question validity..
But only do so in unified global dysfunction..
Without ever even noticing it..
Wars still exist
Conflict still persists
People seek to protect their family
Never knowing they contribute to crime
As a result.. I even lost mine..
Humanity is simple but..
Money creates our complications..
Humanity is killing itself
Just look out your window..
Or turn on a TV..
We're trying to survive the chaos we built..
Chaos is Hell yeah but.. It is not to blame..
Why do you focus only on its symptoms?
Trace the sources of negativity backwards..
Why do you bask in such a Strange Sunlight..?
Some rays real with some rays fake..
Your demeanor became a mask
I'm sorry but its just simply true
Next time you shed a tear..
Its directly due to an entire humanity in fear
The world is truly falling apart..
You never investigated the right question
This isn't an outcome of pure possibility
Because we slowly built it into a certainty
We never even knew..
There is no seeing now.. not anymore..
We may still be able to change it but..
Far too many only need to perceive a crime
To swiftly judge it..
Remember.. Symptoms and Source
Solve one.. the other will dissappear..
Now humanity is almost out of time..
I want to survive and I want to be happy..
But.. this chaos is a symptom..
Its source seems to remain unnoticed..
Or ignored due to being truly unpleasant..
Don't hate the messenger..
You should have expected this..
I should have too..
Mar 16, 2021
Mar 16, 2021 at 11:47 PM UTC
Patience isn't truly the walk of life. Or even the shame for not convincing yourself that everything up until this very point in time...is how it is supposedly meant to be.
But this is the first example towards not telling yourself the truth about the very illusion you've been living this entire time.
...It's called the decline in acceptance to oneself...for not telling yourself you have more in your general self-worth...then what kind of self-contempt you've been blocking away in hopes of accepting your very own disillusioned artificially created...self-resolve.
That being said, the actual chances that you have been living your own life (free of charge) from feeling you have defeated the such negativity in your very lifestyle... Is nothing more than a shower of benign social ramblings (from within yourself) that will sentence you too a psychological error in your very reasoning for illogical decision-making.
Which means, in the very end, choices don't matter in the long run.
Since you already know what you want... Even if reality (outside your very self), isn't what is truly best for you (especially when it wouldn't agree with your very options) first and foremost.
Mar 31, 2021
Mar 31, 2021 at 6:12 PM UTC