Might as Well Try in the Dark

Consider this me reaching out,

socially, love means doubt. Now

that I know why that always was, being led

by a path away from you...all hurts. Never

knew how to translate the love untameable like a dying sun,

love, heart overflowith, blind without it--etcetera... New

language for me, apparently; then there is operating with no cue

until your negative

actions break a piano string. All about no store-bought meaning

My--our music lost its rhythm, in my naivety

with no answers to give. Can't do subtext, speak like

ever misrepresentation kills hundreds. Fuck...this waste of breath. Maybe

they'll see this, maybe I'm better,

however, the contentment hit a medium.

It blends, barely hovering on false love, since in a sense saved the love

Rewrote the Daemon Origin, for their maladaptive

functions. List, apparently, is where human shit resides, like a

misfit nitwit, third eye flipping off during most

people dating; 99% give or take (still in remedial masochism)

turns out the silence (you all do on human instinct)

is what my soul is supposed to love...always left a pretty mess

amongst the outliers from the late-stage college division.

Although, not sure that it was me, what's a me? Or the misinterpretation

you say I ran from. Fine, I'm better by nature to be a doomer.

Can I even talk normally? Telling you, you get duped, maybe

you're all too liberal with cover stories. Possibly real people out there,

Only there is no plan, rule book, and the guesses aren't worth a dream

they're based on. Details get exchanged, sure; be wise of the

main points. (Apologizing still...) You were where love points, to the waking

equivalent I dashed unknowingly, rush to die for the funny obituary until the

fade. Forget it's real, and genuinely wonders

if I qualify for such an epilogue...

Left in the mountainous desert to heal, is it working? Weight

feels left to oblivion, but is it deserved?

Can't do communication skills beyond the Punk weeping

willow without you (all's) prompts, not

specific. Living closer to Pacific (what water?) terrifically dusty

hiking hills, car haven, some even

say enchanted... I almost feel planted. Doomed

since the rain bombs stopped. Old self dead, like even Gaia

won't drop the nuke. (YET) Like Wish bon eat 18 yrs old gone to the woods,

although, I've never been free of your version of panic, something to

do with this same face, the gut says I've gone a drift

a little too far. Still unbeatable by car. Fuck a tortoise,

The Hare loses everyone. Picked up Bugs' Acme sign, damn

wrong turns keep this speak-easy town alive. Some

business model. What's done is done. I'm Space Cowboy dicey

that way. Might be my only scream into and from the void/the between

as the necessary level of Aloofness not inclined for evil the talisman demands.

Arms can alone only hold so much for so long. Curiosity

might as well check the light you thought let go (not a feature I can do)

maybe...but I'm successfully practicing this new breath consisting

of all the strange, stronger Zephyrs.

Thank you.