slucp

This melancholy seems to creep with intention whilst today becomes tomorrow and i lose more and more precious time with myself. surely i musnt be alone in these pangs facing turbulent relationships in a vessel of misled ambiguity. flowing and reaching only within what feels sound to my present; i should learn to pierce beyond what i myself have already seen, and thus petended to know.
Could there be an end to this road at any age or place in spacetime? i feel this stagnance is of my own procrastination as day after day life and love slip from my fancy toward something cold and mechanical.

by any other name

you could call it a party or you could call it therapy
people move into you as you move near something whole
steps and words and smokes and faults fall peaceably together...
...at this therapy or party or mindfuck whatever

cant assume a resolution will fit these lines tonight
this cold this must this time should be pure
i cant stomp the truth as i can a liar
...in this mindfuck or friends house or pocelain bed

day 1

This isnt my first time but Im new all the same.
i plan to join the legions of bio-shells,
popping a cold thumb in the butthole of the interweb
but this motion is exactly what it sounds like 'swoosh', motion.