In many travels across this melting *** of a country I have found that every small town has it's own cast of characters every group has the ******* who cant handle
*****.
The party girl who gets crying and wishes she could start all over again.
And the one to busy living this life to give a **** about what you think or how your
feeling.

After a couple  of weeks it gets to anyone the sense of not belonging.
the constant movement  it eats away at you like rot gut whiskey.
Once even though in agony you so joyfully keep pouring down your throat.

And the conversations become the same are we but playing a game
saying whatever it takes to get what we want.
But what is it we truley want?

Comfort of a warm body by are side the feeling of flesh apon flesh.
It has to be more than just *** but out here I belive its to feel
what its like to benormal and for one moment pretend you wont  be
walking out that door to chase sun once agian.
Living like a pirate apon the land.

Not matter her body's warmth when you leave you never havea chance to
know the bad or the reallity of people.
thats why im forever a tourist.

They put me in a room where everyone knocks on the door. They expect you to keep your sanity where most of the patients needed to be locked up in a funny farm. They fill the patients full of psychotopic meds but in truth it is turning these morons into zombies. They don't know if they are coming or going but Imust actually say the only positive thing I heard from the psychiatrists out of UIC psych floor is why don't you get your poetry and stories published to me. I will never havea normal life again no thanks to Robert Littlejohn, Michael Czech, and http://facebook.com, which I have closed down. I do miss Denise Seymour I wish she would call me. She blocked me from her facebook and changed her phone number. I love you Denise come back to me  please.