I take notes.

allows me to look back; laugh, shrug at the refuckdancies. this is exhaustingly ripe, we become altered by duties, and expectations while the rest of us fulfill higher priorities such as parenting, the taskful essence, of responsibility.

feel like i’ve been doing this for zillions of years, galactic epidemic. do i wish for instant gratification? yes, and so do you. sense leans toward blandness, ritually hangs from our skin.

perhaps it’s a vitamin deficiency, from juggling apples in the dark.

take fate for instance, it contradicts itself placing subtle memories, joyous ones, sad ones, there is no inbetween.

the containment of contentment 👈symmetrically struggles, hearing becomes impaired. 

to be continued . . 

Yellow

is not for sale 

the burning may feel fatal

we are fruits that look like apples

common light explains, how one 

can laugh, and in a moment, cry

undergrounded by ants, sort of burial 

a hard transparency, when you-lose 

the ones you love, the ones who have 

ridden, above clouds, made of stones