The only thing that matters now is the dauntless efforts of my recalibrations. My tunnel vision
Blinding me matters, to me, much. Consume me. Blind me some more. I have no other wish
But to wish the retread fruits joy. The sides are darker. I dim them like everybody else
Is dimmed and damned. And, now
I soak my skin in some blueberry juice and moonlight. I want
To be one of the best parts of my man and my momma. I want
To learn to love and create until the world bleeds my name and
No stratosphere is there to hold me back from exuding that
Prowess and power bleeds benefit with it, maps of me indefinitely,
Mops me intuitively.
It’s all just diapers and dreams.
Folks marching in on the first
Light of their twenties, busting
In with their big talks, with their
Big heads and big ideas falling
Flat in spring, completely
Drained around fall.
Nights when just about anybody would do.
People are sustainable; but with me only,
People in recovery…
In the pink river, Grief is candy, son. Sweet and tarnishing, we so actively go back to
Stealing music and hustling for highs, and never caring for the sun so beautifully
Ruining the skin. I keep on swimming, but I fear that I have lost that thing that made me attractive.
That simmerer. That simmerer. It leaves. It leaves… I am not yet done for, my tunnel babies!
I have many a jar to commemorate it, but the scars are ugly. They jarringly
Decorate and perforate. I have been treading, a nihilist for years,
And nihilism has given me nil for nil is what is owed. I need
To get back to my soulful years of earning and yearning.
Even the nothingness waivers.
Waiver at me indefinitely.
Waiver in me intuitively.
TO TOMORROW! TO TOMORROW! BABY-BAE, AM LATE TO NOTHING ELSE!!!!!
TOMORROW’S THE ONLY BLINDING, BITCHY BUTCH THAT EVER MATTERS!
(I tunnel to tomorrow, indefinitely; I tuck to tomorrow intuitively, intuitively.)
|The Tunneling »|