Friday, September 24, 2010
I may die in my front room simply from dehidration. I may yell to my roomate: "step back,getcha face blown off!" ,she may yell put some pants on in the kitchen.But really,I'am a nice guy. I like chess,and horseback rides. I use to bathe out in a lake,until my baby sister got disentery and was left on the trail. Rail road crossings at night as I tossed and turned in that jail cell,hard metal and cement incasing,cellmates tales of gunshots and wars waged. I turned over and dreamed,the only way I held onto sanity,I'd be lying if I said suicide wasnt a fantasy,after that kind of drug binge;those kinds of sins. Shit,If I had some gull I'd take the bull whip...but I wash dishes...and write symetry in the dark. Detachment comes in all ranges,even physical illness in form. Drained from the mistakes,you pray your body falls on the floor;convulsing;that'll show em. Visions of children with chainsaws in their grips making incisions in neighbors and friends is enough to turn any man to pain killers. Feel safer in night time,with blind hope and warrants on file.I hope I fall asleep tonigh.I hope I wake up in time for bright lights and snowcapped houses,smoke billowing from their tip.Graveyards empty,as eyes begin peering into the cottage who stayed home for the day. Screaming cominces as the loveless convicted spit their autrocious vocabulary to the street.Mindless rioting took place.New playgrounds were built in the coming days.