"contrarily" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Right now, as we speak, there's a little boy, aged five
Pushed aside on the corner of his mat, where he naps
His fingers are clenched onto shredded crumbs of bread
He managed to get his hands on this morning despite his mother's constant nags
About having to save the last few bits for his new born sister
Ashes and rubble are his best friends ever since he can remember
Disturbance aches him no more
For everything he's ever known are dents
He wouldn't know what the other side of the rainbow looks like, let alone both
For he's never encountered a rainbow during his yelps of pain
Pressure, abundance of destruction, humiliation
His innocent weeps never reach aid
He is now used to it
No more room to present emotion
For everything he's encountered will forever be frozen in time
He wouldn't know what peace is, ever
For contrarily that would be foreign to him
Therefore, somewhere in this world, silence takes over
This little boy whose whole life has been built on lies and disruption
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Oh, the great and mighty Dragonfly.
How he moves like no other,
How he fights like no other,
With any shark who would apply.
With any shark who would apply,
That great and mighty Dragonfly
Would turn their angles right around.
Before the ring, he’d beat them down.
From every foe, he’s seen esteem.
Astonished by his skill and poise,
And in the minds of men and boys,
He is the idol, hero, dream.
Those who’ve yet to see him fight
Have also yet to see the light,
That new-age light that’s sparked late flames,
And also snuffed unworthy names.
They say that Mr. Dragonfly
Has piles and piles of letters wrapped.
Letters and letters of envy trapped,
As many as of praise awry.
Contrarily, in his own mind,
He thinks eventually they’ll find
The rumors should be flipped around
And pedestal be taken down.
For when arena lights are off
Away from drunken cheer and quaff
Away from praise aside of scoff
The hero has no golden crown.
He has no talent to be praised,
No superpower to amaze,
But just a body, flesh and bone,
A mirrored face he’s never known.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 8:13 PM UTC
it'd cut through my sour, orange moments, as my blue sheets remind me of you. My pastel mug wouldn't remind me of tea, but your confectionary lips in lieu.
Contrarily, I'd destroy my like for maroon and I'd never have my eyes red. I'd hate every crimson flower, and disdain every green. And I'll stay away from cherries and tangerine.
But loving you is not a condition, but an overwhelming actuality. Loving you is blue. Like the subtle and unchanging hue of the skies, the tint of the ocean and its tides, I will forever love you.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
A young lady sashays across the kitchen floor .. Displaying a stunning , red Ball gown , beaming , contrarily to an fro , eager for a compliment from a proud seamstress . A fidgety young boy , hand -me -down jacket with slacks being tailored , patches cut , hand sewn at worn out knees ..Darning Papas socks , repairing a tablecloth , custom curtains , flour sacks made into napkins , aprons , quilts and handkerchiefs . A wicker box that belonged to very gifted hands indeed
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
The rainbow’s bright colors gazed out of their prism, speculatively, cautiously, almost contrarily, with no wall to paint their patterned pictures on, fading into irrelevance as they vanished into the void .
Time ; torturous and tyrannical, toyed with the torrential turbulence, as it’s transitive tenaciousness thoughtlessly, tactlessly, tooled through the torrid tempest .
The starry-eyed girl gazed glassily across the expanse as if in a quandary over the night sky .
A half human silhouette in a sky filled with thunder heads and birds of prey rooted in a tapestry of alien galaxies and blazing stars playing a melodian .
Water glistened on the skin of the naked woman and rainbows danced in the air before her as the waves crashed against the rocks .
A young man with a pony tail in the center of the back side of his head played his drum while he danced on the grass .
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 10:51 PM UTC
There is a fair bit of you in every garden of my life.
Truly, that is nothing extraordinary, you should know it as objectively as I do.
Nevertheless, there is something I’d like to clarify:
When I say "in every garden”,
it is not only in relation to this of now,
this of waiting for you, of hoorah! i found you!, and ****** i lost you!,
and found again, and hopefully stops there.
Nor in regard of you suddenly telling me "I’m going to cry”,
then with a discrete lump in my throat "well go ahead”.
And then a graceful invisible rainfall arrives to assist us,
perhaps the reason the sun rises unhesitatingly right after.
I’m not just referring either
at the day-to-day fluctuation of the stock in our little decisive complicities,
or that I could or believe I can turn my deficiencies to victories,
or of you to bestow upon me the tenderest gift of your most recent despair.
No.
The situation is more serious.
When I state “in every garden” I mean to say that in addition to that sweet cataclysm,
you are also rewriting my childhood,
that age when one utters "grown up” and solemn phrases,
and the solemn grown ups celebrates them,
and conversely, you think of it irrelevant.
What I mean to say is,
you are reassembling my adolescence,
that time when I was an old man full of insecurities,
and contrarily, you know how to extract from there,
my germ of joy and consciously spread it.
What I mean to say is,
you are stirring my youth,
that vain vessel no one took hold of, that proud shade no one got close to,
and you on the other hand knows very well how to shake it
until the autumn leaves start falling
till there is nothing but the flesh of my triumphless truth.
What I mean to say is,
you are grasping my maturity,
that mixture of stupor and experience,
this unknown horizon of fear and certainty,
this relentless faith on my questionable strength.
As you can see, it is serious,
extremely more serious.
Because with these or different words,
I mean to say you are not only,
the dearest girl you are,
but also the splendid and cautious* women that I love and have loved.
Because thanks to you E, I have understood,
(you’d say it was about time, and with reason),
that love, is a beautiful and generous bay, that lightens and darkens as life goes by,
a bay where ships arrive and break away,
they arrive with blossoms and presages,
and they part with krakens and storm clouds.
A beautiful and generous bay where ships set down and then leave,
But E, you, please don’t leave.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 2:14 AM UTC
Unimpressed by excess,
(gluttony doesn't strike a chord with me)
Contrarily, I forever seek more,
but rather than in quantity, I prefer in degree.
I demand extremes.
If its hot,
I want it to blaze;
If its difficult,
I want it to incapacitate.
If its confusing,
I want it to dizzy me to the point of vomiting.
I want to shake and storm about,
and overwhelm and be overwhelmed.
I demand extremes.
Words need intent and meaning.
If they are meant to inspire,
they better make me ******* soar.
Biting words should drain the victim,
make them bleed,
instead of simply causing discomfort
or stunning momentarily.
I demand extremes.
Why say it,
when I can scream it?
Why just feel it,
when I can be consumed by it?
I can't just idly sit by and watch my life
but rather I must fight and struggle and
lash out at it violently.
Days are long and meant to be conquered
and nights are meant to be devoured.
Why be content to just live life
when you can beat the **** out of it instead?
Just don't be surprised when it returns the favor
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
in traveling letters from you I feel that we too
could visit Barcelona, or a far off European museum
filled with righteous Athenian romances layered
with Greek sculptures. In lieu of studying
the curves of their form we’d rather find ourselves
taking in our bodies, yours being far more interesting,
forever, than those all beautiful, ivory, and headless.
When I receive Frank O’ Hara in mornings over coffee
rolling off your tongue and into a black roasted cloud;
I smell even the greyest of overcasts—- our bodies
pressing against solemn and still in some bright yellow
cab wedged between the bustling bikes and buses
of New York City. It is only appropriate because you are
as aesthetically striking as a skyscraper, because your mind
is as vibrant as every neon light guiding me like a
moth straight back into your shape.
When I receive Frank O’ Hara in our first apartment,
may it be ideal or busted, begin with one block of prose
framed against the entrance wall as the eggs cook
contrarily, its yoke the orange color of evening light.
Warm near the ashtrays centered for our guests filtering
to and fro. Small in pacts and lovely like neighborhood flowers.
We’ll press our bellies side by side, the corners of our bed
holding and map Madrid, or even further to Japan, with our
fingers tracing like constellations upon the rest of the empty
spatial plaster. Left that way for only his words and the rest
that is left between us; all that is naked and unspoken.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 1:38 AM UTC
mother was right
she always was
I know for certain
you can't make people
love you not really
you can guilt a smile
contrarily though
the real thing
comes naturally
by its own terms
by no means will
you be welcome
to the radiance
if you walk in
by your own terms
do not try anything
without an invitation
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to its progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to its innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of its conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of its relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of its interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of its conjunction yet the totality of its ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet its diversity exceeded its physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC
Who makes roses cry rainbow
The iris of my eye.
You make me see ghosts,
And want to meet them.
See demons, and want to fight them.
See gods, and what to be them.
You let me be.
Set me free.
Took me to the kingdom by the sea
And just drifted away with me.
I melted with every word you said.
Fire met water with a bump on the head
And a spark of electricity.
You taught me relativity
On a stroll down sea horse valley.
You’ve been through life and death with me.
When the world ends,
It will be in Zen.
You and me sitting happily
Just relaxing counting Z’s.
As beauty explodes before our eyes
Stigma finally set aside
Truth revealed to the naked brain
Everyone else will go insane.
Now with nothing left amiss
You and I floating in bliss
Nothing left to do but kiss.
Cleansing all the doors of perception
More powerful then resurrection
The world we will create
They won’t be able to mutilate.
And we will sit upon a green star,
Watching our world from afar.
Sipping on the Milky Way,
And dreaming days away .
Earth can have heaven and the universe next door
We have all of time to explore!
Not afraid of a black hole
Absorbing my soul
When I’m on your arm
You’ll protect me from any harm.
We’ll pick up Felix from mars,
Go meow at the Dog Star
Until it retires to the west.
(Which we both know is the best)
We’ll camp on the sun for a century
Let the galaxy revolve around you and me.
As we slip into unconsciousness
To dream and reminisce.
Of when you started me acting quite contrarily
And talking so esoterically.
Of when infinity first began.
I love you MandleMan.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 5:44 PM UTC
Will you know love when you find it?
Perhaps
Or contrarily, it may sneak up on you,
Like a lion in the African fields
Wrapping it's jaws around your throat,
Encasing you in one foul motion
And you might feel the hints of love in your gut
Before the light fades completely.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
swaying leaves and shadows
afford an illusion of cool
complementing my tower fan
set on breeze
as I melt upon the couch
dressed in t-shirt and boxer briefs
blueness invades my eyes
looking out at palm trees
silhouetted in sky
I can’t complain
contrarily, I like it
fed my fat face with a Fatburger
downed with plenty of cold water
now I’m just chillin’
enjoying my socal summer
it would be nice to actually be at the beach
rolling with the waves, sand *****
and scents of salt air
but that’s all inside me
day dream memories of being buried in sand
and dipping in ocean
floating
my diffused eyes stepping back from the heat
bathing me in timeless
endless summer
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 3:27 AM UTC
Chosen things from rows of things
Deciphering the prose of things
Weigh the highs and lows of things
Parse the why's and woes of things
The endgame shame of choosing things
You choose a thing you lose a thing
Just like you never knew the thing
And naturally you'll rue the thing
In time your mind may skew the thing
Season how you view the thing
The reasons why you choose a thing
Contrarily imbue the thing
©Jason Cole
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 8:13 AM UTC
I used to scratch my arms so much
that I would bleed,
Incidentally, when I'm feeling small
my arms get really itchy.
But I just crossed an ocean
on a jet-plane that fit
hundreds of me's.
And I didn't feel small.
I saw monuments that you
can see from space,
I walked over cobblestones
of the eternal city,
seeing the span of time
outstretch through my every day,
I ate food that
traveled millennia to arrive in my stomach,
And I didn't feel small.
Contrarily,
I felt the tiber plowing through
my wine-colored waterways,
My shoulders adapted their posture
to the lean of the Singelgracht,
I stared Vesuvius in the eye,
standing upon its ashen stillborn city.
Yet the itch never
came. Flying back
To my little pond, I wondered
If there would be enough room to
Fit the new me.
And step by step,
I tip-toed back to the bed
I thought had been left
Untouched in my absence.
But when I laid my head down,
I turned into Alice,
Drowning in my sheets,
They had gone back to my pillows,
And invited a stranger in,
Stretching out my space to where
Only they could fill it just right.
And now I’m small enough to see
Bed bugs, nibbling their way up
And down my shrunken arms.
I ponder over the possibilities
Of charms being mixed in with
Grapes, aged with cheese,
Deliciously tricking me into
Believing all of this was good
For a growing girl.
As I call up to the giants
Who used to be my height,
I recognize they can only hear me
Via echoes, a subdued volume
Of my former cries.
Only being as small as a pest,
Can I see how the molecules of
Matter really do shift,
A best friend can
Neither be created
nor destroyed,
Only moved about, shifted
From one sleep-mate
To another.
I sit with the bed bugs
I do not itch anymore,
I am the itch.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC
Fire
Crisp and articulated
Rain
Cool and elevated
Both, with shimmering
Waves and rays, will glimmer
While two live contrarily
Lightning and thunder;
Confrontation and unity
rarely exists without the other
But fire and rain
Are forbidden lovers
Renewal
Refreshing and purposeful
Purity
Unified and spiritual
Both, with encouraging
Words to say, will linger
And both live harmoniously:
Love and serenity;
Coercion and synchronicity
Are necessarily together
For renewal and purity
Are meant for each other
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC
The spoon in my cup is hot, but I don't burn myself on it, contrarily to you, I always burn my fingers on you.
The light from outside is coloured in a soft blue, I'm drinking hot potables to dispel the cold inside of me that stayed after you went away.
I'm listening to Debussy's Claire de Lune and it remembers me of you – beautiful yet so incredibly sad…
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
It has no slander.
It does not chatter.
It does not spread falsities.
It is truthful, honest and comforting.
My fantasy land is full of books, sans any humans.
What ultimate joy!
One day I will write my fairytale of bookdom.
The Bibliophile Kingdom, the wanderlust to eternal libraries.
If I could read all the books in the world, I would.
The earth contrarily is so false, so illusory - just so human.
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 6:03 AM UTC
The apple that grows high,
Red
The sunset marking the end,
Orange
The flower that brightens the home,
Yellow
The tractor that pulls the fields,
Green
The ball in Fido’s maw,
Blue
The fish that swims in cold waters,
Indigo
The galaxy shining high overhead,
Violet
These are the colors of our world
They shine and glow
Vibrant and joyful
They give life to the dull
Their meaning together
Is one of love
And passion
As they shine above
In an order they encourage compassion
These colors don’t define us
They don’t give us a label
Their meaning is pure
Any argument contrarily, unstable
A rainbow dances
It shines and gives joy
There is no group
That should use it as a ploy
It’s symbol is a promise
One made out to us long ago
Let me use this symbol now
To really let you know
I promise not to hurt you
I promise to never let you go
I promise now to push through
Any trials we’ll have in tow
I promise to not give up
Even when the going gets tougher
I’m promising you here
That though the road will get rougher
And won’t always be sunshine and rainbows
I will stick it through with you
I promise, from my head down to my toes
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the immitigably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Oct 1, 2021
Oct 1, 2021 at 12:53 PM UTC
overcome with thankfulness and gratitude
sitting in my regular life
with my common car
enjoying brain chemistry
free from lapsing synapsis
and misfiring nodes
I live mentally healthy
it is my joy –
of course I get down
the weight of the world
attempting to rest on my shoulders
I shrug
pull the rug
and unplug…
do mounting bills cause pressure?
could a opinionated youth
be reason for irritation?
are stinky dogs
enough to make one curl into a ball
and cry or stare
trapped in despair
hair all messed
acting contrarily to your ideal of self…
the point is
the world is not all roses and ice cream –
we all face adversity
we all experience anger
when we allow that feeling
to rule our lives
we are slaves
to chemistry –
I know, I know
Where is my compassion?
Where is my empathy?
I just don’t know what depression really is
I just can’t relate to a lack of attention
I just don’t understand the pain……
Yes,
I do…….
I just get over myself
wash my **** face
and step out into the day
try it –
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
Looking down the barrel
Of a young adult *** life
Peril is apparent
As I spend another lone night.
Dodging gunshots,
And other times, looking for shooters.
Searching for the right moment
To escape this life of a loser.
That I might get shot one day
Is a topic of which I fantasize.
But how come I’m obsessed with this,
Yet I possess a special pride
For restricting what I have inside
And choosing to hide it away?
Make sense of this I’ve tried and tried
And it all depends on the day
Because in one hour,
I’m so glad I’m independent
And then later on,
I’ll be searching for a weapon
To come fire it’s ammunition
Of lust upon my rosy face.
It’s so built up, it’s the first time,
I’ll always know the time and place.
It’s so sought after yet so feared,
And in the end, contrarily,
I’ll just say, “is that all there is?”
And go on my solo merry way.
I’ll always see another day
And have my emotion-fueled goals.
Sensations are so stimulating,
Yet they’re so far beyond control.
So as I stare down this supposed barrel,
Defying stats by not yet being shot,
I question myself and my appearal,
And wonder to change what I've got.
Once I’m wounded forever more,
Will I love what’s new and lament what’s killed?
These sensations, I know what they’re for.
It’s nothing, I maintain with my will.
All the sensation, all this ammo,
That may or may not taint my breast,
It’s all abiotic, it’s all arbitrary,
And all it offers is a test!
Will I obsess over a barrel,
Or any other form of fire,
When what matters infinitely more
Is who is there and whose it’s guider?
Alas, it’s like a fancy food
Of which I’ll never have a taste.
For although I may one day taste this barrel,
In my heart, there’s not a place.
The trigger-puller will certainly matter,
As will any who shoot at me.
I love people, not acts or stimuli.
From fear of this barrel, I am free.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 4:33 PM UTC