Vague mutterings to clear out the filth in my head my dirty little secrets and fleeting thoughts and the bits of the world to small to see without stopping and squinting at the nothings that make up everything
I don’t trust myself
I don’t like the ways the faces leer at the tops of the trees in hopes of more
I try throwing them the meat of poetry but the bones and fat get caught in their eyes and they can’t separate the flesh from the junk
But it’s all love the flesh and the junk and the good and bad and everything everything everything makes me whole
Life is a ruibk’s cube. It is useless when everything fits perfectly.
“Even though all my problems are meaningless, that don’t make them go away” - young
Good! Fucking A!