A CERTAIN AMOUNT OF SEX ACTUALLY FEELS BAD.
With a piece of the sidewalk nailed behind my face, I'd still find a way to lift my face.
With a piece of the sidewalk nailed behind my face, nothing would change.
I'd still lift my face and keep it off the ground.
I'd still change nothing.
With two lives I would use the first to figure out how to make the next one even worse.
Do you believe me.
We can meet in the corner of space where people forget to check--where I do things I have to do with my eyes closed.
The fifth orgasm rips the groin the bestest and I am a beautiful human.
I eat jewelery and give nothing in return.
And youth is the thing that keeps ending.
Unlikely future.
No one has to protect the animal with the big jaw from the cross-eyed palsey holding a bb gun.
The cross-eyed palsey with the bb gun threatens nothing.
The ground will get cold soon and I'm waiting to be there, to freeze with it and be cold until the sun tries its best to get beneath and cook me.
I actually feel ill with how negative I have become. But I don't have any negative feelings about the carpet in my apartment.
And I don't have any positive feelings about cleaning it.
I only have interest in continuing to rub my feet on it then sending electricity through my nose to my roomate's cat's nose to give my roommate's cat braindamage (hopefully [wink wink]).
All things keep ending.
Do you believe me.
SP, Frowns Need Friends Too, 2009
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