PRETTY LITTLE STARS, THERE THEY ALL ARE, THOUGH
WHOLLY PREDISPOSED – AND SOMEWHAT OVER-ACHIEVING AT THIS SINGULAR THING.

CALLED LIFE ON A KNIFE-EDGE.
“MUSCLE-TO-MUSCLE, TOE-TO-TOE – THE FEAR HAS GRIPPED HIM BUT HERE HE GOES…”

TIL SETTLED DOWN TO SOAR AND HE APPEARS TO BE SURPRISINGLY UNCOMFORTABLE IN JADED NUMBERS – THE BATTLEAXE AND THAT HUNGRY HARPING MAN WHO STAND DISTANT AT BEING.

ALONE TOGETHER
FOREVER ENTRAPPED. BY THE CAT THAT GOT THE CREAM. LEFT BEHIND UPON LEFT-HAND STREET. COME HOME, LIKE THE PRODIGAL SUN, PLEASE.

WE’VE BEEN ENDLESSLY WHISPERING FOR IT TO HAPPEN AGAIN – FOR IT TO MAP ITS OWN WAY BACK TO BELONGING.

ONE DAY THEY SHALL TAKE THEIR OWN TURN AND MAKE IT MATTER THE MOST
IN THE WHOLE OF THIS WIDE-EYED, ANGRY WORLD OF OURS, SIMPLY BECAUSE THEY DO DESERVE IT, MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE CAN EVER EVEN FULLY FATHOM TO IMAGINE FOR THEMSELVES, ACTUALLY.

THIS UPSIDE DOWN, VIOLATED, SELF-PERMITTED EXISTENCE OF THEIRS, WHICH SETS THEM BLEEDING HEARTS APART AND PLACES THEM DOWN UPON A CUTTHROAT KIND OF AN ATMOSPHERE.

THAT OF AN UNGODLY ATMOSPHERE, WHICH GATHERS AND GAINS MIDST UTTER ANGST-ARISEN GUFF.
MIDST THIS PROBLEMATICALLY PIERCING ENDEAVOUR OF A SELLOUT BRAIN.

AND IT WILL BEGIN AT BARGAINING WITH ITSELF TIME AND TIME FROM INNER WITHIN… TIL TEN TIMES TOO MANY FOR ONE SINGLE PERSON TO POSSIBLY COAX THEMSELVES TO INEVITABLY ADHERE. THREE GUNS AND ONE GOES SOFT. THEY ALL GO SOFT BY THE BREAK OF THAT BARGAINING IMBALANCE.

Asinine i-n-s-a-n-i-t-y still persists to spill its guts right by the brim.

RIGHT NEAR THE MATTER-OF-FICTION-TIL-TRANSFORMS-ITSELF-TOWARD-IRRATIONAL-FACT IMAGININGS
GOING ON UP INSIDE
OF THEIR BORROWED MINDS.

THEY DO NOT EXPECT FOR PEOPLE TO UNDERSTAND, NOR FOR THEM TO FULLY COMPREHEND IT ALL AT ALL, BUT THEY DO INDEED NEED FOR THEM TO UNEQUIVOCALLY L-I-S-T-E-N…

TO TRUST THE WANDERINGS OF THAT GUT-INSTINCTUAL THING AND TO BRING WITH IT THIS CO-MEDICALLY COSMIC QUALITY OF GIFTS THAT LIE SILENTLY BENEATH.

A THOUSAND MISERLY INTERTWINED RAMIFYING RUMINATIONS
Still, waters run on rather rambunctiously under-qualified rum and iced-coke cocktails.

IT WILL STILL, STILL, STILL STEAL AND DUTIFULLY PERSIST, EVEN IF THEY DO NOT FEEL IT SOMETIMES…

CREEPING
ON
UP…
WAY, WAY BACK
D
E
E
P
E
R
DOWN
FURTHER, FARTHER FUCKSAKE INSIDE.

OF THE FULLY BLOWN MIND AGAIN AND FOR ONE FINAL TIME.

THE VERY LAST PERSON WHO THEY WISH TO SPEAK OF, LET ALONE TO THINK ABOUT, IS SIMPLY THEMSELVES. NO TRUER WORDS WERE SIMPLY SAID.

BED-HEAD AND BACK TO BASICS AGAIN.