Blistered souls in warm water.
I find happy things in poetic bathroom stalls.
Uninstalled disparate blundering love.
Escape this laughing whitespace until dirt and mud displace these caramels.
I started to stare at a life with meaning which happens to be mixed messages of work and dream.
Thirty three is when I will understand.
Black blankets filled with diseased worries are burned with remnants of broken teeth and tumors.
I giggle when I hear these beautiful distances.
She/he/we/this I don’t understand these labels at the moment.
Alone and together are manifested simultaneously.
Walking up stairs and collapsing on children. our children are inside each tear drop.
Each lucid memory of water hopping from place to place. I couldn’t understand her phrases. Loosely constructed with green construction paper. Oh no I’m being redunant. Recursive.
I sometimes miss these things that don’t exist. The pain that I have felt was easily resolved with a dose of understanding. Let go.
Let go. Let go.
Release your empty grip. Please let these pains slip through like all these pleasures. They aren’t here.
Give up controlling the universe. Perhaps death will understand. These numb feelings of suppression. Periods of draught are full with water. Plenty of disease to go around. Pain is a lessening of pleasure and an influx of truth. These wisdoms are shrouded with red colored vibrations. Sleep.
