my life, my life, where are you hiding oh my life?
cut the crap — fuck, you oh fuck you and cut the crap!
it hurts when I swear for no valid reason and that in turn becomes
a valid monstrous reason — I am a shell, like an abandoned crustacean’s home —=— like the crust that Gaea abandoned or some spirit abandoned because God said it’s time for you to be all supernovae or just some scheduled apocalypse on that street of a system and I am a raging pulsar fighting a battle that has already been
scheduled to end — only, I feel God did not schedule this random catastrophe this apostrophe that has made bed and bedlam with destruction and a bedfellow of ennui and a particle dark matter of elusive nimblings like some erotic orgasm you had while asleep with
lovers a and b gone into a recess shrapnel of ‘I will explode later’ or “inappropriate gag sex reflex’ or something and I am hoping to understand what the fuck did I do to deserve this ragdoll of a boredom to hump and fuck and then just feel the humping and fucking again…. what poised poetry of a life do I have?
I can breathe well. Good. God Bless. But I want to breathe in too. To know aromas here exotic and away familiar and that is bombarded by a barricade of ‘no friends’, ‘no good job or preferred job’ or ‘pure classic paranoia’ — I am hating it feeding boredom and lethargy when I should forever be moving; gravity’s center has laid me as its egg — I told you an apostrophe was involved —
— and here I am venting to a venting system where rage will be broken down even if its heard because people prefer the cool, indifferent, ignorant air than realizing the capsizing of an individual madness….