Worm it is, all the way to the core. Jovial for a ride, highway to greed. The quickening drum of certainty poisoning the seeds, swept over the garden into the abyss.
Have you taken a pill that's hard to swallow. It's bitter & hard, and takes time to dissolve? No sugar can chase it down. No water can speed its way. Then it lodges in your gut and there, it is to stay. Maybe I didn't choose what comes my way; didn't have a clue until it gives away. It's not in a hurry. It knows more than I. Time-released wisdom, must you be such a drag?
I'm in love with my bed. All the comfort I can bear, from the soft duvet to the firm pillow, especially after a hot bath. I'm in love with hot bath. My body aches for the steamy caress, listen to the facet go, "Drip. Drip.", especially after dinner with mom & dad. I'm stressed dinning with them. Serving the usual nerves & smiles, too afraid to meet themselves, especially since they got a house. I love my parents' house. It's spacious with big back yard, so quiet with everyone inside, all waiting for the fireworks.
Time flies faster than the boxcar train which carries a single pupper away from its mother’s tit. The pupper, since fully grown, is now, dead. Before it succumbed a final time it accomplished three things: it crapped on a dress shoe; it caused the spill of high tea in a particular garden; and it yawned as it watched the martian sun sunk for one, final time. This is not a story anyone has to tell, but here we are, telling it as it happened to a dog who we shall call Lyttle Lytton for no reason other than that the “Lyttle Lytton Contest” is the mother who birthed little Ly and we are the clumsy fools that took Ly and put it in the before-mentioned train without contemplating the hurt a tiny little dog would inflict on life in the broad and general sense.
Your fear is your truest friend the one that wants you to live. It will haunt your every thought unless you call it by its name. You don't need an exorcism nor a bloody priest- long as your heart keeps pounding, they will guide you to your dream.
I keep my eyes on the future. It never arrives, so I wait detached from everything and everyone... I'm afraid.
Jealousy's making me behaving cordially: as a way to appreciate your youthful idiocy; a mirror to reflect on my own supremacy- how far I've come & what lays beneath. Yes, it's ego. Can you separate heart from its beats? Of course it can be silenced but that would mean I've made a mistake. It takes all my strength to hold in this silent scream. Yet, you are the one that I pity.
The ones act normal are the craziest of all. The ones behave erratically are the most raw. The soul of social conscious says, "Shush. Don't wake the mycelium that knows not the spores."
I hoard my sufferings like it's a special property. Suspicious of the ones who try to lighten it. Only the suffering of others grounds me which is why I prefer ruins over happiness.
The hardest thing in life is to love, live with love among the chaos, where sirens of fear spread like fire while a voice's saying, "It's almost over." Love is a delusion many can't afford. Life's lessons filled with horrors. There's a gulf between rich & poor. People hide what they desire the most. Love can't be taught but has to be felt. When love is withheld, it's transactional. Life is death for unloved, somber souls. Hope you have someone to kiss it better.