Late night, gotta get on them poems.
I'm sorry if you feel bad and that I'm turning to you all. Ugh, I just don't have people to talk to always and I'm always swapping who I'm getting support from.
I don't even know where my life is headed and that keeps me drain headed. I drain bedded, have no sleep and my brains redded. I just said it. That thing? I still get.
They not feeling cause they didn't even read it. I've been sweated. Sweat from the mind cause who gets it? Who best hits? Who guessed it and who tested it?
My experience. It's something you take and then bake, into your own little nice cake that you make. It's like Einstein said he's in love with what you take. Because you steal.
Stealing is an act of crime and an act of crime is like someone flipping a penny for a couple thousand dimes. A couple thousand times.
You remember that one time I said it was enough? Well guess what? I'll bust your nut because it's never enough. I needa love and just touch. You don't just walk away that rough.
I need an experience. I need a life. And when I say life I don't mean to say that twice. Dice. Roll much, leave well. Casinos and money is what they sell. Riches and papers is my drug pill. I made a deal. You didn't follow it through.
Between me and god, I'm not actually this "Jew". Not a pond who believes in fast endings. Because endings are the richest transitions to a stop. And girl, I'm not finished just yet at all.
Ayyy another poem!!
Hate. Hate the bate. Hate that money making trait that makes us wait until the bag of "gifts" and "cakes".
It's all fake. It's all love but I called it hate. I told them it's not a correct right. That their minds and lives are not the right spike. It never poked into my mind that hard or even light.
I told them. I said it to their faces so their minds might understand. What kind of mind or life is this? I asked. They don't answer. They're lowlifes. Meaning they don't understand and push the truth and difference away.
I hate them. I hate it. This low life of society and people. Society isn't a fun job it's a con job. Rigged from the tip top down down down down under to the lowest ends. Down to the cores.
I hate faking how I feel in order to get people to understand me and like me. Everything is way too fake and has sinked into the core of our culture. Reality as we live it is our made-up world of prosperity, patriarchy, and matriarchy.
We are fake in our lives, minds, and existence. Yet, existence is all true. Does that make us the truth when all people are fake these days?
Poem time!!!
I'm probably just complaining a lot about other people being so annoying because I don't have much really to do with myself and that stresses me out because that stress is like that giant yet invisible nought that you've had since you were 4 because you always were a problem or had a problem you always had to live with and you can never be an answer.
You can't satisfy. That's just sad. I grow old in my ways and I grow sad and lonely in my ways.
I guess have to stop complaining but it's the only answer for myself right now. Which is my unsolved answer to my own question. Social stability.
I'm fed up and juiced out like a processed animal. Like I'm another card passed around and usually non-cared about in this game. Like I'm your "fun" button that you keep on pressing. Like I'm your gas peddle you push on over and over. Like I'm your endless Cuphead game overs. Like a sales pitch but the one that sucks and somebody gets fired. Like I'm your doll you gave to your dog to chew on. Like I'm stressed... like I'm lonely.. like you're gonna walk out here and like like that.
Liking some relatable feelings and thoughts and like you're leaving then. Like why? Like why do I like to express myself when I'm not even physically fixing myself? Like I've always have helped myself mentally...
But like if I can't get the physical right then just like um.. why?
