on and on and on

Sometimes in the tangle of vines I think I'll finally be lost.
It's a relief to be honest, to be tangled beyond further movement.
Sometimes, I guess I almost want to be caught in a net.
You know that moment when someone's head hit's a wall in a film.
And the scene changes, and there is a palpable sense of finality, of release.
fuck, I don't know. Some Times. i just want to move on.
Even if I can't be included in what follows.

drunk listening to emo, slipping into my middle age

Hate is governed
and blessed
less and less
sycophants
panting with
watery eyes
I despise
nothing and everything
I have sinister memories
 I remember
I'd kill to forget
 oh
or I'd kill to remember
anything
once or again
or again
or again
friends of friends
that I find
far to boring to pretend
which is how I find myself
time and again
sycophant
over and over
under everything
every skin
anything
new years eve
years ago
memories on bridges
some how more poignant
with all that water
flowing side to side
like queasy swaying
maybe i'm pretending
like I know
look me up and down
I don't have a clue
keep pretending
until tiredness hunts me down
cornered and under and under and down

.

Perhaps this was always the point in the horizon that we were headed for
the lost land pushed through like a pin prick in our collective consciousness
I've suffered with deja vu my entire life, maybe
I'd hoped to reach a point where it made sense, that, or anything

Skin is a neutral smell, holding a rock that fills my palm, standing in the rain
sensations distinct from the slough of sadness
steady me against and rising anguish,
relieve the mundane burden of adulthood.