I heard
it loudly, they know me, nonetheless, I have something to prose, and too much
to lose. the beat bleeding, leaking into sanity, I gallop to get back to her.
heart-rafts, reputed for deranged, I loved her so damn much, I hate her guts.
so wretched, eating buds, low to the dirt. was it pain, the blood dripping, the
home life was a prison.? some are meant to fly, to hit the streets, to do 100
mph, hit the curb, Friend! blazing blunts, couldn’t sustain sobriety, she too damn
fantastic. I monster out, I love the flicker, I would have died in her corner! I
was so damn sick, to make passion, it meant to love like forever, I was so
disappointed, so hurt, as, too, to forfeit on Love. I pulse out, we all rich,
the talent, the feeling, I knew he was in sorrow—his wife so enlove, so in his
corner, but he frets loneness. herewith, so appreciative—the feeling is uncanny,
the sensories are unclear, bouncing inside is a miracle. I stir the stew, I look
at her, it was crazy to suddenly feel her. I speed out, I roll the torture, I pushed
the boulder, and walked away. an existentialist, a mystic, my child a manic at
it. much to adore her guts. most to give her mother space. much more at this
ink. at editing like a lunatic. fretted by the fear of love. couldn’t deal with
something on that level. I feel bad, but I can’t include the royals. I drag
knuckles. I remember addicts. I was in the ghetto at ten, at eleven, at
fifteen, at infinity, until its broken life.
