I got into a fist fight with my poetry classmate
I’m really sad about this
I chase flowers in my dream
the meth head helps everyone in the building.
he dies last week smackgagging his skull alone on the tile in the tub on the ceiling in the floor.
he was so cracked man
precious tugging lists into bluegrass prastures
I think it’s safe to say I’m more cynical when I’m getting dick and my cervix is in pain
world this is addressed to you.
we speak about the dog that is missing his hind legs who had been adopted by the australian couple who I see returned being taken to the vet today.
he was a nice guy
swinging cement in a galaxy exhausted by molting lovers
wiping away the mildew
our bodies become horse play things
blingy in an elegant genus of forest of the sex tourism industry
I’m still getting guacamole
screaming at the taxi driver whose meter dies as he attempts to triple my empty wallet
It’s gross like baby kid beauty pageants.
I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know if I’m changing the memory or dancing
the carpal lines I fought to escape.
the apathetic sense of my safety and survival.
how the only way to save the program is to run in a clear taxi
I let someone into my secret fort and I am not sure how I feel about this my brother
sleeping for a day and a half means your fighting
dreamabstracting flowers the first to make me come and I cant even understand the music
being a little thrown present