I am running away to California to taste the salt water and journey as long as possible along the road traveled by men

with pens

and lines to trace over

Like pirates come to pillage all meaning from the street signs like,

STOP and think it over

I want to write about life until there's no more life to write about

and then

pretend like there's more

Like chewing on a Teabag

until the flavor starts to burning on your stomach and

bleed brown in your teeth

and transforms into

a bland, spitty wad grainy kernels in your teeth

 

I am going to lie again sometime soon.

I know it because my world is built so precariously on truths

built on lies

built on

assumptions which

incidentally

unfortunately

are also

falsifications

Nothing I do is legit anymore because I am suddenly

unbearably

a lie

My work, my school, my eating, my play, my insides, my little itty bitty penis,

my church going, my sluting, my forthcoming spirit, my kitchen, my laboring muscles,

my instigation, my facts, my fucking alternative facts, my rack of wonders,

my belly and all my functions look just as before

It only looks like a life and so I guess I'm going to hell

Almost as corrupted as the average human

Only half as remorseless, but we can't have

everything

I guess I can't go any wronger

Except I'm so deadly afraid of losing

faith