donate to ya boy

Monday, February 14, 2011

you wake up on a day such a today and you say: consumerisim dosent have its grip on me...and you tryied to be strong on christmas...but you got shit faced and one of your best friends said he railed that know...the one you wanted to have valentines day with...but thats denver...this is new set of rules...just no one to talk to..its one of those few times i feel like breaking down and crying...hidding the fact that i am not just all of us...but out my saftey nets to catch me...haha fuck it...i have a no sad lonely phone calls for me tonight to one of the sets of eyes across the united arms rapped around my lover saying she loves me...or the concept she gently sweat kissed palms with their fingers intertwined in sweet kisses to my temple as my arms wrap around her comfortable with suicide...its just not the martyrisim in the years that individuality is the only thing worth dying for...ive been coughing up sand since i woke up,my face cleaned...only streaked by the saltwater rivers on these dust covered a swirling wind of the shit storm we kicked up i looked to my best friends to look into me...they say im a lunatic...i miss sam...joe...brent...I miss those nights in the brothel when i was the only man between two houses full of women...i miss those bike rides threw the graveyard to escape washing dishes for a escape my Public defenders conversations...I miss those fridays where i cuddled with my mother watching television until pops and brother came home...i miss justin...sometimes i want to fall victum to to mexican train tracks,whisky and bennys...this is for neal cassidy the back bone to this fucked up brainstem I roll with consistently...I havent seen a doctor since the seizures began...since the ideas of how much diteriation can occur in a four year GO..I cough up my lungs into the night...I tempt fate again in the morning...I break down in a pile of myself on the floor...covered in snot tears and hope...that tomorrow wont feel like this suburban curse of cookie cutter homes...cookie cutter women...I bash my forehead threw the stain glassed window of the local church...i quietly laugh and mumble...give me back my bullets...ive been torn threw the machinery of slavery in the mask of salvation for no other reason then being the SON...of what I preceive as a reality...I miss her...the one that started this all...ill sanp her neck if i see her again...or ill stand there..awkward,,,not say a word then be hit in the mouth for not being in she sees it

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