Slick as Tarmac and Half as Nice

Location

Conservative flifloppers tackle

warmth,

Declining hugs and scratching their

heads.

Are you mad?

Directly checkering and victimizing

isolated grasshoppers.

Gone AWOL,

walk to the bus,

Don't want to be late.

Close the door,

slam it in their

Face, hopefully 

It'll break their nose on the way out.

Highways clamp open to sunset

boulevards and rainbow sprinkles.

Why, hatred, now? I

Hate you!

Waging war against nouns

GAH!! Life is just

Coffee and Instagram and waking

up.

It's missing alarms and anxiety from auditions

And never being good enough,

apaprently.

Let sleeping giants rumble through

the hay bale maze.

Mom makes lunch,

Brown paper bag-sandwiches.

But we both know I'm not hungry.

Vomit thoughts to left-wing galaxies

because CRISES ARE ON-GOING!

...am I going on?

The scray thoughts, real

business experiences

A lone survivor but maybe...

Should I have died with them? Why

was I

Shunned and told to spin this cotton

Wheel. Why?

 

Play Chicken with the Dodge.

70 miles an hour down the vacant

sidestreet.

Maybe if I throw myself at the last

second,

and just the right angle,

it'll all be fine.

Make everything alright?

Maybe I should just join the circus!

I mean, I already walk the tightrope everynight,

made all the more dangerous, a 

bottle of vodka

grasped in my hand.

What's a safety net?

Big leagues are just small dogs, all

fighting for the singular food dish.

WHIZ past the destination,

Mission less possible than you think

it is.

But mission equals death? Or what?

If I am a constant (state of

depression, rage, suicide),

and auditions are the real variable

reason for irridescent blood eclipses,

Then what is the final conclusion to

my attempts?

What answer can solve all my problems?

Purple, because aliens don't wear boots or hats.

Legitmate pain for all,

A free for all of nonsensical classical

romantical logical lonely

pain.

Shine for all you're worth, morning glow,

I believe in you.

But who believes in me,

Like I believe in dragons in subarctic

tundras?

No one, 

apaprently.

Throw my pencil across the room, 

My hands shake like a blender

similar parallelograms suddenly

even less important to me.

Can't I jsut follow my rainbow?

Strike it out as lightening strikes the

land?

Arch generational teleprompters

coming to a grinding halt on the

seashore,

Turtles with elephants on their backs

flying through space.

Shouldn't I be strong enough to turn

sand into glass

Or break out of the crystalline

cocoon?

I don't need this axe,

But maybe I could make sense 

of the trees I chop down.

Maybe.

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