smoking

I’ve been smoking cigarettes more frequently the past few weeks, which is an ominous sign. I’m looking to make new problems to distract myself from the ones I have, or whatever I guess. Or whatever I guess. It’s not easy being so incredibly stupid and debased, so reckless with my time and attention, so alone with myself after spending a lifetime being a megaphone that didn’t think and only blurted. It’s not easy. I didn’t ask for this, but then again, who does? Who wants to confront the Real, the thing in you that you know you that is yet-to-be-unmasked? Do others spend their whole life in ignorance of who they are, are they able to die a blessed contented death never having probed or asked too many questions? Am I really so sophomoric and unsophisticated, am I just beginning to do what others have done their whole lives, to maybe ask a few more questions that take a few more steps to answer? I’ve become unbounded, undone, I am yarn, a spring, a taut wire that’s been cut, and all I have are a menagerie of cheap metaphors and no personality. I found it at L-train Vintage, H&M smile, it’s me, a-ha!

Each round is lethal it has explosive beaded grain ready to combust under the slightest pressure I wonder if I slept on a bed of it and had a bad dream would it just? I am sleeping on this bed and I toss and turn and I’m asking if it blew up would it shrapnel through and leave a nice portrait a nice flesh sculpture would it be red or am I reptile?

Am I am you am me I don’t know but I need help the edge is so sharp it hurts and I’m asking you to please stop I don’t know who “you” is but I’m begging with you nonetheless.

A man asks a question that remains unanswered, he dies but the question lingers. His son makes the mistake of also hearing the question, he ponders deeply on it, but also dies. The question still lingers. A man picks up where the man before left off and dies, every time, and still the question lingers. I’m waiting for my turn, and I’m sure, the question will still linger.