The exit couldn't present itself quite quickly enough. Imagining the exposure without my fuckable buffer is chilling. Discomfort....soooo much of it. As if I understood a language I wish not to [incorrect usage understood]. Your anger is exhausting and I can't help but pity your accusatory and seemingly misguided ramblings. I am surrounded by imperfection, yes...as are you, with even more denial and screaming fits of childish rage. Meditate and discuss away that pain. This pain. That pain. As is this. And YOU, sir? My own personal jesus. No doubt you'd instruct me to shut up.....respectfully, as always. But it's the telling reality....all I speak when not cornered with balls of 8. Were those 2nd-hand inhibitless mutterings....truth? You want(ed) me so bad? Mostly unfazed. Ah, you are you (thankfully). I am me and nothing more (just enough, yeah?)...capable of much, afraid of unintended consequences that present as right and wrong and RIGHT.
....afraid of never being able to smell the contents of that 4 or so year blue bottle or listen to sonnets of how I'm just like heaven without feeling something like sadness and longing. Curses. Confused by couples....their very existence, function or possibility. So despise being equated to a broken toy that once meant so much to the one and only. Then again, other days the clarity is alarming and all the while, enlightening. The circle of life sans grass or que sera sera sans the loss of translation. Baby, we will be friends...someday that's true. One day, I will know sovereignty.
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