Game Theory
stare at life, through the lens that's dirty. i'm thirty, closing in on
older, wishing for the heart to make my mind catch fire. moments so mired
in emotion wait, do they, to bog me down. i'll drown, a better fate, than
slowing to statue in a haze of cigarette air.
let me see, as out of practice as out of time. i go from salt to lime,
washed throat with alcohol swabbing, spider in a dark ditch. but which is
which, the heart or the balls, hand to hold or body to bang. something
someone sang resonates, something someone said i disbelieve.
whatever, i'm kept busy by being kept busy, feeding cats & bathing. i
don't mind aging, though it's not growth. no i don't see souls together,
just vases filled with dying flowers yards apart. my broken heart believes
out of spite, even though so fond of the word "never."
so sign me up, eyes need eyes to make sense of chemical need. always more
to bleed, always more blood though thin, though fading red. what instead,
newspaper voyeurism, sexual vandalism, embracing the dirt as the blooms
fade. no, not today, i want to scare the seconds when my time is up.
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