there's really only so long you can run before your lungs shatter into microscopic,
irreversible pieces all across someone's driveway. it's really a shame though,
because without your lungs to pump you with life and chagrin, your heart kind
of, shuts down.

when that happens; when all that resolve and barrier break down and you're left with
raw shivering twisted little you, you can't do anything but avoid. avoid and avoid until
everyone sees that you will dodge every 'i' and every 'love' and every 'hate' and every
'you' that people will try to toss your way. you'll scamper underneath your music or your
poetry so you don't have to acknowledge the fact that people wonder if you're going
to stop talking forever. because it's easier to think that everyone hates you, being that
hate is such a painfully simple emotion and it only takes a sliver of your sliced up
pinpricked gory mess of a heart to hate. just like it only takes ten percent of everyone
else's brainpower to be an asshole.


i was in the shower, and the first line came
to me, so i was like, "this should be recorded
before i forget." and then i get to typing
and that whole second paragraph just
materialates out of nowhere.

whenever i write my book, this is the stlye
it will be in. forsure.