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I give up.

there are few words to describe mornings where the darkness swarms the trees and the leaves in their windy flutter, but there is no cold sweeping at the depths where surface imagines fury, the sharp of which comes from adapting to the swamp floor… thoughts and things are taking their excessive toll on me, and everyone else that seems to feel the paint peeling back to reveal a true reality, the next wave comes… ages have passed since we came to understand anything true that was not just some other regurgitation, a “new” tangent on which so much without necessity rests, and frail board breaks as there are more to walk the plank overboard and off the ship… the tripping off the short pier mode of awareness, i see… where are the pirates and radicals i thought were real and valid, visceral things?… the mad little experimental souls that wield wisdom at the end of their spears?… the true natives of this laughter inherited by the mindless massive pull which the public displays like the bloody huge penis, bloated and warped by the swelling inside of its loins, and the pants too tight to fit quite right somehow… the countenance of the missive-brained individual i picture gripping the pillow in fright, the sweat cold and burrowing into the flesh as the bed grows damp, and the teeth grind more and more despite the gravity of reasons to do otherwise… lonely beyond the path where righteous souls swagger, thinking themselves all the quicker or smarter than anyone else, and likening their wit to the hair of the trigger pulled… the blown brains of the wise and decayed festering guests resting patiently under their graves deep in the pit, painted the ceiling with all the harmony of their grey matter spilled like waste, and yet my mind keeps coming back for now… until, perhaps, there is growth beyond this…

Thanks, khet.