Your the one and I didn’t tell you, but I was married two times, today is not the right day but its not the honeymoon.
Jumping off Saturday morning edges, the past cheater.
Maybe it was special that day…maybe it wasn’t.
Can we have a guest for the day? It is my other half. Do we have a more important day if we don’t go to school? We miss some days, make it a honeymoon. Now it has universal destination, we are great in Honeymoon. Our honeymoon.
Your words have made their way to my ears.
The alcohol-soaked rants you spew late at night when your inhibitions are gone.
Such feeble attempts to cover the pain you can’t deal with.
Taking the form of shallow insults that reflect
the empty, terrible excuse of a “man” whose mouth they fell out of.
And when these words hit my ear
and make their way to my heart,
I feel such shame and embarrassment.
Not because you have the power to actually affect me,
but in knowing that I wasted years of my fleeting life
on someone so fucking pathetic.
Hey people of the nest I’ve been experimenting with writing short stories this what I got so far enjoy
Here’s a story that minds that rarely meet, here’s a story about the conflicting ideologies of Capitalism and humanitarian undertones that swept the 20th fucking century.
I saw that Gypsy clown again dancing right in front of me trying to get his coins to reach the next destination he had to be, According to him. This wiry Bronze haired gentlemen was holding a bag of his own feces. Being that I am a Defense Attorney and I have came across toothless wonders like this before I find Myself completely unfazed by his unfortunate nature, due to my long history with social work with pro Bono work. His Name was and of Course I’m quoting him when i say this;” Arthur Bingsley”. he had the yellowest eyes that I have came ever across, however his right eye had a tinge of red touching the outside of his pupil. He said it was his “wiser eye”, for what ever that means I’m not sure. His clothes having a dirty regal and old fashioned nature to them as well as his name ,suggests to me hat he has a notion he was from the 18th century or something. I can’t say that I didn’t like him he had a very genuineness to him, despite his delusions and mild cases of schizophrenia, he was not at all a dangerous or violent person. So I gave him all change I had and he said ” farewell young journeymen good luck in your ventures, and I bid you Adieu”, Its funny I never Knew what the fuck he meant by that but he said that every single time. I know, I know he’s a bum I’m not helping him by giving change and believe me coming from Washinton D.C the Homeless mecca of the U.S. and Ironically the nations capitol as well, I never give change to bums. Reasons being; One I’m Cheap, two coming from second generation Irish parents of nine children you got make your own fucking way and fight for every scrap you get, and finally three I guess I don’t give a fuck about the plight of my fellow man unless it has a dollar sign at the end of it. what Can I say I got this capitalistic mind set that Ayn fucking Rand babbles on in her stupid fucking books that I had to read in undergrad but I didn’t give a shit, I knew who I was and I knew what I was doing. To me everything has been earmarked and anyone can be got and their it is. Enough about though this Arthur Bingsley was really something, he was entertaining and despite his many flaws he was very talented individual. to this day i’m still not sure if he is a better con artist than myself and secretly I admired the fuck. It was like the Vulcan mind meld with this guy he knew how to connect with audience. if it was kids he made them animal balloons, rich snobby ivy league liberal fags he would quote Shakespearean literature, serenade ugly, fat or old women with songs from the top of his head with guitar in hand. it didn’t matter he did it. I mean I caught him on his crazy day I guess but bums I guess have days worse compared to mine.
Habits are a thing that have a pertinent ring. I’m not a sister who cant put it on as soon as I hear a peculiar ring. Its a call from an uncertain place with a person unknown to me, a unfamiliar face. Ritualized and actualized by a man from an uncertain place to confounded to a calling card for a person of a certain grace….. WE ARE LOST IN SPACE!!
for a individual that tries to grab, its lost something that they can not have as trying to catch a cab to a level of tranquility and to me this is my soliloquy. A bender a turn to forget a thought that do’sent rhyme its just wrought with regret of a place that I cannot forget, my consciousness.
RUN as fast as can you can’t find me, I’m in a tower of of unconscious friends with no rhyme or reason to their unconscious bends. A piece of solid oak has been twisted, soaked, chipped, twisted that bent. as the oak is twists it begins to crack as it soaks it’s color lacks as it chips the smoothness becomes hacked
Habits alone have manifested to to something that’s quite unattested to the reflections of something pubescent, sad really? We are so alone extraterrestrial really ET PHONE HOME. In these habits we all have become drones to the silence of consciousness making us really….. ALL ALONE :(