I strive off of spontaneity
I love art.
and those desolate, abandoned places that lie in new york.
I'm an awkward conversationist.
I'm inspired by the world of science.
Folded knees splayed across linoleum tiles,
I hold in my hand crazy eights and trade whispers
in the spying light.
Reveled in a crack of voyeurism, intrusion in its admiration.
My dad sung the old gray mule was gone
one night with mouthfuls of cabbage soup tagging expanses
of meticulously crafted vibratos of apathy down his throat,
a choking gargle to his tone.
And so he was.
My brother and I ,
We’re just two lines in a furrowed brow.
Another gray hair in a nest of delusion.
Pulling strings on tissue paper geometry,
I guess thirteen really is unlucky.@1 week ago with 4 notes