the piano plays for the white coats.
thank you, it is beautiful and fits the mood rather well, being
a tragedy unfolding all on its own, as discarded crisp packet do.
i miss you, and think about you far too much and when its not
appropriate. the laughs of friends, the clinking of grandmas good china, side-stepping dog shit on the pavement.
give me ten of these and i'll still be an unhappy fool. fantastical murders without the repercussions. joyousness wrapped in little bombs
but also held
in front of one's eye. superbly
crafted visions of the capital help the escape and chase of new-ness. do not do what i have done children, follow anothers way, smile and don't ever ask
truth because it'll sting just like the hornets do.
the chattering and presents of others astounds me to a level of sheer disgust. should i attempt to change my sorry out look
? has the bitter
resentment descended upon me too soon? in early years in full bloom in such a horrific ass fuck of a time ?
old brother alcohol has shacked up with
the folks in town for too long now, his buddies are gonna come join him.
what am i to do?
don't tell me, i might not listen.