Confessions P2

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: September 19, 2016

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Submitted: September 19, 2016

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Radiohead helps me out.

I feel most of their songs are my friends.

John Lennon is also righteous.

Hey! So is Debussy an Mr. Satie!

Wait Pink Floyd is majestic!

Simon and Garfunkle, you guys are friends for sure.

Nina Nastasia gives me some solid emotions. Her music is beautiful.

 

Why do most busdrivers look sad and lonely?

Why do most bus riders look lonely and sad?

Why does most everyone look pained by life?

We all need to just live for full moons, it's better that way.

 

Stomping on bees because the fear of mystery pain.

Yet daring to explore every small dark and green damp space, that's what it is to be a restless child.

Questions to a child spark the insatiable.

Questions to the old ripen the hunger.

 

Insatiable hunger, it makes me sleepy.

But it gives me the energy to be tired.

 

I'm uncomfortable, in my skin.

I don't think it fits properly, but I lost the damn reciept.

I guess I'll wear it until it is worn and ragged;

until it is spindly and sad;

until there are more warped holes than flesh.

Until this outfit can be retired next to my spine, my teeth, my joints, and my gnarly heart.

Well fuck, nothing fits anyways.

 

No rest for the Livid.

Nothing strenuous for Dry Bones.

Immediately a median for the confused bunch.

 

Here is a riddle?:

Concrete boots vs parachutes.

Work to save my own, even though I stave alone.

Parachutes vs concrete boots.

Lurk to crave stone, even though they brek bone.

 

People don't like to see someone my age smoke cigarettes I've found out.

They all say the same thing.

But I know.

I know it's bad for me, I know I am killing my young self slowly.

I know.

I like to stay fit and active, but, I do not care for my health.

So don't get so worked up okay?

I like the taste of hot smoke;

and the ashes that shimmy through the air.


© Copyright 2017 Flynn Nacht. All rights reserved.

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