The devil is sorry.
There’s no future to fall in love for. There’s my pretend games, There’s my nervous breakdowns. I am 24 years old. I am 31 years old. I am 17 years old. There’s no future where it doesn’t burn. Like fat cigars, Like fast red cars. I am 42 years old, There’s my grocery store. I am 65 years old, There’s my career. I am 11 years old, I am 12. The future planets dead. I am playing Gameboy, I am receiving a text message on my iPhone. I am smoking cigarettes from marlboro, I am smoking cigarettes I rolled myself, I am trying to cut back and I am vaping. I am critiquing exhibitions, I am writing manifestos, I am sucking off bankers. There’s no future to write home about. There’s my developing body, There’s my minstrel cycle, There’s my hair growth and hair loss. I am 53 years old.
There’s my longing for a family of my own, There’s my longing for one last conversation. I am on fire. I am on fire. I am spending money and complaining. I am on fire. Sending warmest regards, I am on fire. There’s my well-balanced breakfast, There’s my prized doll collection, There’s my followers on social media. I am 27. I am 35. I am 81 years old. I am fire. I am fire. I am fire.
No kill eggs.
I am honestly bullshit.
There is a demon inside me.
Smell it and tell me if it’s normal.
I like stuff online, And hate it in real life. I’m disgusted, but the litter is beautiful. Need to learn how to love again, I want the world to be made of friends.
As a body in tennis shoes I walked through the parking lots of used car dealerships. My country was on fire and so was I. There’s a big fuck you inside of me painted hastily with pleases and thank yous.
T-shirt with a website on it. Stingray foot. My body is a hummer. The blood and shit, Gonna drown me alive. The blood and shit, Gonna drown me alive. This next one is called “Fuck You, Hatred”. Good people stuck in traffic start behaving badly. Fuck you, Hatred. That’s it. ... Busy women on the bus are busy, Have trouble finding time in their calendars. One has friends with babies, The other has friends with babies also. Man with bags takes video of the bus cam monitor with his phone. A woman wears a frayed hoodie with holes, She wears many layers. A man speaks in a language I do not know, To a person I do not know through his apple ear buds. Something he said sounded like: “Evaluate my life”, But it was probably something else.
The times now feel abreviated, And talk is cheap. I hope for one thing, That home is waiting somewhere out there, Far away...