Domesticated cock that is a warm penis. Old faithful that erupts like a pocket clock. Swing around with pee. It's harmless, just stinky. In the open air free as can be, cradled with cotton & fleece. Occasionally it would sing in glee, getting wet in a cave so sweet. "Hello, I have information that you will want indeed. If you miss this opportunity, you will die horribly!" "Oh, warm penis, won't you be kind & leave me alone, stop wrecking havoc?" The domesticated cock is not pleased. It bobs its head like a penis not wanted.
I enjoy the smell of my groin & my feet as I savor the morning breeze. Pet chickens stare at me with dinosaur eyes lead me back on earth. Birds rejoice & sing, timelessly. My universe is filled. Books spill stories of spirits. I marvel at boxes so neat.
There's the dark nights with no land in sight, drifting in the shifting fog & the reflections on the ink black. Sleep's someone else's dream & I'm having the nightmare leftovers. They look familiar. I say, "Hi." Perfecting the personal recipe for self-reproach, doubt & "Oh, what was I thinking?" "Was I really there? Am I even here?" I think I will go on, regardless.
If I can love you, I will murder for you the sun & the moon. If I can ever be so close, I will look into your eyes & spit at them. If I have one belief, I will twist it into a cup for your tears. If I can forge anything, surely the spender will drive you mad. If I can sing for you the song that penetrates & suffocates. If I can make it right, no one can save you & nobody would care. If I can do all of these, would you worship me just as I feared?
The night's air's fragrant like a Lush bath-bomb that I'm addicted to and never runs out but needed more so I splurged & ordered online then picked up at the store cause shipping's not free and there're people walking on the streets good location shopping district people needs space to feel safe & shopping is the common trait brings all people out even during pandemic I'm walking plague & yet I want the smell of blooming flowers then I cut them up & put into jars like reddit says then I got depressed again but I never run out of lush.
I look for a humble bookmark to stand in a space I've been before. A promise to return sometimes after. Somehow life has become a maze bounded by the progresses & pauses, measured not by the pages but the will to keep traces.
It's good to be alive sometimes especially after stormy days & nights for the moment when the sun does shine makes it worthwhile fighting for a breath.