many layers of eww

The buzz of the dryer is calling me to give attention. Saptoe went running again, after sharing the morning with sad manic eggs and toast. Connecting cycles together trying to find a common ground, a self reflection of how things deserved to be, without being even and perfect. Not about me, but my emotions surrounding the issue at hand, anger and pity for the soul before me. Leaving me helpless for my gold friend, sap has been doing this for so long, forsaking lil bear even. Congruent to a crack pipe, I have seen other souls vend themselves. That thrown in there for guilt. What ever it takes to relieve you of this sick addiction you have. I ask you to take this gift of what ever wise rants I have left before I leave this world. Screaming “you matter” “you count” trying to be imperturbable for the gold to learn of it’s shine on its own. I want solace in knowing that the gold will stay a shape where it will fit in all the many shapes and sizes of holes that will come before it as it follows it’s hopes and dreams. Forward doesn’t include the bitter taste of this crazy useless drug. The Sap knows this, all to much better then anyone around it. Propulsive every which way trying to use the past to calculate the future is not working. Looking back over your shoulder for happiness can’t as easy as what lays before you. So why don’t you? Time to push the viruses out of the system. I see the pus and ooze regurgitating from the past taking you down the same path over and over. I can try to conduct this runaway train, but this gold is the only real engineer on this track. What would you do if I decided not to ride the train anymore? What if I got sick of the gruesome pile of mangled you at your own hand. What if everyone wrote the letter of off, leaving you alone to deal with that pile of excrement you keep rolling around in. Smelling like shit and shame in a pigpen of your 30′s,40′s, and so on. I’m starting to think you like it and not the color gold I thought I knew. Wondering how I think or how others think of you’re color? Tasting the asshole of Shittles by the handful, and still eating. Gorging on impurities and fake self centered minerals just out to complicate carets of pure for their own needs and sick from the tit psychosis. Forswear the ones who want to cover the holes in you’re roof that will give you warmth and comfort that will last a lifetime. Limp as of late, fearful to fix a lie told once that even myself believed. Just a broken old weathered train car you still drag around and allow to be hooked to the shiny new ones. Its all about you and even in the end I have made it about me. Guess I’m no better then the self centered pus of an infection that won’t go away.






