My spirit is exploring a place where my body can't reach yet, and it requires imaginary friends to give me constant feedback.
Lately, I’ve been more excited for old chapters to close than for new ones to open, more times spent preparing for the worst than wishing and hoping.
I’m still the same person... fundamentally, if you count my gender, race, and identity, but other than that nothing’s really the same for me.
Second thoughts? Plenty, they’ve gone and came... climaxed and left... turned and turned off...
I'm less aware of my effervescent thoughts as I learn to be famous while being nameless, so I’ll have to wait for my fate to adjust to my liquid assets. Angel dust. Pizza crust.
They have nothing to do with what I'm writing about, but still come to mind. I'm a hurry-up-and-byproduct of artists saying anything just to rhyme so at least the residue of their pointlessness can linger behind.
Make it make cents favors making sense, so it's no coincidence that coins signify significance in legitimate literary environments. Hence the pretense even in colloquial dissidents, advocating for relevance over elegance to all but their descendants. So what degenerates lack in due diligence is richly compensated by arrogance and I for one blame the two step-parents.
I believe life demands at least three, so disoriented authority figures will likely have a problem with me, but we'll see.