See Through You.

Crystal ships bearing inanimate pleasantries that may or may not be constituted as friendly in nature. More of a friendly fire situation; not meant, but excused by way of negating said intention. There are others, you know. Other transparencies, looking to expose just enough to instill a fallacious quality of safety all while bearing witness to the greatness of you and what you have done with the endless pile of corpses and vagabond ideology that has insisted on making a living via a parasitic nature. A nature that infects but never lets up. A glass bullet. A poisoned tipped word, turning an age old phrase does not equate to one having no less a mercurial kind of fancy for intolerance and compassion alike. When the shadow became bigger, I knew you would be pleased. I knew you would run into the denseness of mediocrity only to be capsized by your own ego. I knew this. Meanwhile they're all riding that blue pony, that darkness you have laid out and claim to have no part in but we both know what time it is. Ponies and shadows are no substitute for tarnished spoons and honey warm sleep. A glass rig speaks volumes into the marrow of "know too much." What other alternative is there, than to march right up to said shadow, engage it proper and disintegrate? If there are other options, they have remained a mystery for 36 years and counting. I don't get care if you peek, just don't document. The Brown Madame seems to have made a point, several in fact. None of which I care to admit to, especially since there is no longer a known buffer. I came up. I came up to the apex of the thing and balanced on top of the black solder, just to remain there with more information and no where to unleash it. That's the thing about friendly fire, everyone's got an excuse as to why the inhale is happening but no accountability or gauze for the seed. Germination is killing us.

Right. And then....

Its a habitual thing you see, not self preservation, but an undertaking that never made its purpose known. Sick eyes are sick eyes, I know the cure. The one that's self prescribed. The one I use to take myself for a large portion of my lifespan. I know it's a rut, a kind of metallic over gloss of things meant to be overlooked. I am not on board anymore. I am rejecting the habit of your groundlessness. It has never been my station, yet somehow has become so. I participate in a clogged drain. There is little to no need in such feats. Now I remember. Now I remember how you looked the last day I saw you look at me and the warning that you gave. I m hip. I won't be taking any rides. Much less getting in the fucking car. I m awake.

This fucking....

How does that look? All wrapped up, sorted out and squared away under the watchful eye of a self declared misogynistic impersonator of a man proper? Seems trite and caution ridden, a path for one one does as he's told. Strange that you would beg that cloudy day now and not then. Odd that you would declare an emotional upheaval in the midst of your own demise ridden future. I must admit, I have never gave all that much thought to your lack luster self induced path of indifference and carefully keeping your shallow limbs in tow, accompanied by a soul that Jesus himself wouldn't deem worth saving. I want to wish your cloudy days into a tempest that would make your Grandmother feel the kick back, but you do a sufficient job of that yourself. Be better. Be better than you ever were so you can be worth the time anyone foolishly puts into you. At least then, at best, one could look back on you fondly. Your a lesson no one needs. Maybe you're the only one; the only one that needs to learn anything from yourself. Fish in a proverbial barrel, no? Its a shame, even all tucked up, the "man" part of you utters its proclamation from underneath borrowed maternal related skirts. (That bit is very important, due to the nature that even a woman's given nature wouldn't stoop to nurture yours.) Good luck in your row boat, I used your oars for my fire. Keep on your good foot, the rest of ya is bleeding out like a sieve every time you speak. That foot is the only one you got, maybe you should keep it in your mouth for the time being....

Says Who?

Well, I guess some would say, well they may say it's none of your business. Others, mainly kin to you, proper on not, may say it is. However, I m telling you it ain't. Furtive as you are, I m onto you in a way your Momma wasn't, say when you were 13 or so sneaking out of the house to going to do who knows what with fuck knows who. I slide past those monarchs, past those lazy day trippers with nothing short of a brilliant trajectory toward liberty you claim you want to know, nay be IN. I know whats your business and I ain't it, nor is my secret soul hush that you want infect with your crude stereotypical harshness; your harshness about life, limb and the ability to exude exactly as you should with no after thought of the perception of the other. That's the business. That's the vast well known secret of the few in the forest and the negated surreptitious strain of ya'll. I know your sad eyes and long nefarious tale of borrowed woes. I know you want me to open it. I know you want me to yoke up with you and tarry this sad sack with you, but you know I m tired, am seeking gainful salvation in a face of brutal shape shifting fallacy and I won't tread on your trip proper to your Mecca of man made, so please, with cherries on top, don't fucking intrude on mine. My Momma DID always say "It's none of your fucking business."

Its all on lockdown.

Absolution in clarity ridden decisions is always a welcomed commodity. However, there are instances when one is so ego ensconced and social, self induced expectations are so ingrained in a person, they rely solely on the mistakes of others to forge forward on the coat tails of others all while utilizing "strong, borrowed characteristics" of others to make their very bad decision not only a good one but one for others to look up to. These aspirations or rather the focus for them is still to collect sympathy, compliments and positive reinforcement for trudging on to fruition with their bad decision. Not only will I not applaud such a mistake, I certainly won't after knowing that I personally had given one all the information and evidence necessary to avoid said mistake. It comes down to pulling your fucking pants up, not trudging through and expecting the sentimental antidotes, but by being accountable, responsible and calling a spade a spade. To ask for support after fucking yourself on another's advice, experience and personal account is selfish, ridiculous and merits no support and zero understanding. YOU bought the lemons, make lemonade the best you can, sans my recipe.

Maybe we should all shut up.

Maybe. Maybe its a crystal ship. Maybe its a typhoon with all the makings of a hermetic peace that is promised by those you can't trust. Maybe its a doubt that is founded, maybe its a genetic defect that enslaves one to the mercy of a transient belief that it is one's birthright to cater to such a thing. The times where you squirm at the thought of having to suck it up one more time, or even worse, not. It could be the best time or the most opportune time to graft that insecurity onto a solid groundless mass that will leave you on the precipice of nothing, and maybe that's the best part. To swim in that deep, black question may be the best thing this life affords you, but the choice of that can be hellacious within itself. Maybe that crystal ship is chock full of fuck hope and that's the good news. Lets watch writhing pain dock and hope to shit not to hope.

So you wonder how it happened. You want me to tell you, enlighten, acquiesce to your primal need to know and you believe me the one to do it. I regretfully inform you that I have retired from the initiative induced lay it on-er. There is help a plenty bursting at the proverbial seams, waiting in a self induced exile you have banished it to along with other, now foreign concepts and breath, like "outside", "kindness", relieving one's own burden by yoking up to another's. These are all past times to which would cure what's ailing you, however easier, shinier, faster is a much more suitable weapon of mass distraction and I understand but will not support. False advertise one more compliant and see how fast I run from you. Stagnation kills, oscillation ensures a lengthy and definitive shrug, ambulance will reinstate a right form with vigor like no other. I am not the one to do it, or assist, but I sure hope you get squared away.....your commercialized death is putting a damper on my breakfast.