Reality is never real, it speaks jazz, it never becomes wholeness. To ease his mind, one sips a pint, to giggle at reality, she remains unseen. I become ghostly on a good day. Something to it. A lose in the system. To gain a priority. I remember most portions, one becomes obsessed, in need of a particular outcome. To know, it meant pain, to know, he’ll never that page, to have such worth, needing a little courage. Could have been nicer, to endure this, regardless of my actions. Some are getting away with liberties. But that’s different. It's right in the house. Rather sex it a meaning, early morning, and play pretend. Rather put force into an insignificant. Home is too real. It aches. It talks back. It refuses to appease. I go lower at points, to imagine the anguish, with life meaning, I play pretend. From parents to passions to streets to life. Surefire with one. Such a lasting spell. Another, just because. I could be emphatic, a true curse, rather remain in sync, rather experience my lot, seeing some need a pillar. I’ll never think it out. Most thoughts are partly private. Let God be quicker.
