—pathetic
you havent touched me in a while none of your clumsy tool slips and errs between the lines novice scribe practicing across my skin oh scratching marks i know will scar how else could we communicate our lives to each other we have tried words through sound but paper skin has more patience once living breathing it understands us better than any other tell me what your hurt is by hurting me punishments thrown around as lessons driven deep yet still misunderstood and oh so easily forgotten i do not care just talk.
dragged upon the dredges of your empty sea
what is this melancholy
draining me
im still making
im still pushing
why are you still here
please.
push pull you aint a settler conqueror of lands aplenty youre a traveler flaneur resistant to change aversion to unknown or unconnected to that those they who are not you a selection of at most a few.
you do not respect anybody in the end no matter their station mission connection to knowledge lacking in you there are so many people you like and yet none you would listen to were they to sit you down and say hey it could all be so much easier should you do this which is just feral irony consider how much youve been wishing for a mentor coach trainer since youve been young dry dick sticking to same empty-headed disdain for everyone that isnt you.
we assume facets of our identity with same strange perverted pride probably just to call it shut case tougher mugs than we actually are all the while knowing we are scarecrows of our own making propped up against the elements arrogant in face of a storm that has yet to breach harbour forcing drizzle from garden hoses in the meanwhile just to make us feel the cold water mock preparation for hurricanes that may or may not form nor function—now actually that would be something—what if theres no harbour left by time of landing and all theres left is pages fluttering insignificant fleeing nothing but the memory of their setting?
all of this is no fortress no temple nor everything but a mess of assumptions and self-erections future void physical or not the shapes it wins are only of your same loser being by definition no matter how gold may shine youre always last and everyone that came after—well—just that yes they come after and youve no patience with their wereness invisible basics that need not mentioning.
we started off with seven billion and now we are just scratching names off the list thousands sometimes millions at a time they become inconsequential to our existence perspiration drops useless in anything but seeing the trail left behind and i wonder if asimov were right if ever we reach the lists end will the stars start going out all at once or are we slowly darkening our sky with each individual stroke of this discrimination pen a nation of have-beens casualties of a war amongst the may-bees.
everyones a soldier in this war of yourself no true friends no matter how loyal youll always be inches from leaving arms in hands and sometimes i wonder if you might leave me behind as well and what would become of either should this great schism of the only ones weve come closest to loving break upon the shores of churning seas is this why our only nightmares have been of drowning?
is it better i wonder to keep the option of desertion so comfortably close as for one it would cancel all attempts at stability weve worked towards as always but also shatter loyalty and history with the few privates weve kept private but then moreso for one it may give us an absolute independence in council once for real and maybe better yet allow us to seek find build stories unlike any that weve come across so far who knows what islands lay outside of harbour storms and krakens and waves large enough to—well—you know—do i really—no.
miniature bermuda triangle telling us we shouldnt but then again when have we listened to any thing body or blow black eyes not many true no broken bones either and look where that took us controlled finite academic safe space not even the queer acknowledge the asexual i guess its harder to see the invisible but you couldnt name yourself anything but three simple letters despite your efforts thats all you are—better worse fuck me i dont know.
new kicks new spurs workhorse all emotional
rollerblading coaster all cyclical on tracks
set to take us somewhere we like to think
we decide but——
ok—wait
ill admit that sometimes
im ok with my trying creations
i just wish they filled more of my days
more of my head space inbetween
these horrible weekends
i fear monotony or rather
i fear not controlling creation
a stupid stupid god
genesis stupidime
;
i cant even control this
how can i claim aid
i guess all id ask for
is companionship
with no fixed expiration date
could be tomorrow
its all fucked and i wish
i could drink
but i cant even sleep
homeless eyelash drifter
eyebrows lifted in disdain towards those same stars
would we sleep better
if they all went out?
—
one day ill make it happen anyway
i wish i wasnt excited for it though
i really do.
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