Thoughts fall from my head like clumps of hair,
Curing cancer with poison,
it feels fucked up.
Gumming up the drain,
With my filter
Off kilter,
what I’ve built here
The message killed here
And it ends,
Nothing seems important anymore.
I want to climb out of my mouth, catch a breeze and
Go—
I can’t pretend that my mind is mine,
It gets away from the line, I draw.
It often wanders
And squanders its riches in poorly dug ditches—
With first person shooters, regular polluters, counter-sue-tors—
And most things crude-er.
Inadequate my thoughts,
My thoughts always in action—
Inaction, which actions?
My actions—
A faction of inaction—
But I do, Cry
I cry over the suffering
A dollar for the charity—And I ignore it,
until I don’t, until I can’t, until I do.
Unsure if it’s a moral obligation to show that these things mean,
These things mean to me what they should to me,
They should to me mean, these things—
Is it real,
the inside of me—
when my lower lip rolls upside down
Am I just a fucking clown, throwing on faces of different places
Every time I see a blue n black puppy or a hungry kid, getting all
Riled and wild, screaming in my mind—am I out of my mind—am I out of this world
This world, shitty fucking shitfuck world,
where consumption
Equates to production—life cannot begin without death,
A perpetuation
Of my insanity, or my sanity, or in sanity—my insanity.
Rembering we’re in this
Coalition of sufferin—
One second, thoughts still bufferin’—
Around this idea I’m hoverin’--
Fuck it.
Smashing pixels and aggravation,
Transforming into real aggression, seeing red, at the slowness
Of my processor, my software’s broken, my thought processor
Is this the real emotion, over stalling technology instead of global poverty, true insanity? My insanity, and I make myself
Give a damn—but do I give a damn—when my stomach turns
My mind burns, the raging fire proof of my uncertainty
The disability to truly be, everything a human should be
My insanity, my fucked up gravity to materiality lacking
Humanity
just a travesty of morality and it’s hard to see
The light in me—the silent plea—to be better than I
Choose to be
And am.
Just another fucking tragedy.
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