george works for duane & kent as if my staring out to and not screaming or deciding any thing about the hand that held my own hand through all things i need and needed, damn, some times, at night, i feel the room im in closing in the weight of us, decisions, leading to it all leads to us making this room into a pit to sleep in and me with news of friends i had of women i liked or loved or of lies i lied of us all of this while i sit and pretend that it all makes sense as part of the us i am in. my wife has left me for televised being, i feel her breasts not smile to me, and so i sit and grunt about the lack of white in her small eyes, man, not even a compliment from me, well sometimes. it hit me all of a sudden as if the sort of things i should of read about before i left the house that man did not care about man or woman and that i was going to die having done the things i had done and not those i lied about, the things i wish i could write about, the education we had all smiled about i have and it still feels more of a life for a canvas tent, a mountain. - a
Posted on: Tue, 25 Mar 2014 00:32:07 +0000