I’m seeing people run around like hairless dogs in my hood; hoops up, Glocks cocked, and corn hanging around in the trash bins of the rural Great Plains. Yeah, that’s my hood; you just can’t seem to get a grasp on what makes a man tick out here. Is it the evident surroundings of non-aquified oceans (If you didn’t already know, aquified is not a word, just a friendly heads up)? People just can’t seem to calm their horses down; they keep rapping with their baggy body wear, or get distracted by some new neon apocalypse outfit. Come on, this isn’t the 80’s, though I respect the respecters of past history, your far from them. People need to just pull a triad, and step out of society’s threshold of indoctrination for . . . I don’t know, at least like four seconds or something.
Sometimes, people don’t see those signs of a singular post-birth, so my question to them is what happens to me when I fall into my self abyss? I mean come on, I’m five minutes from hitting the bottom and I’m completely fine with it. What’s that say about me? I asked this old man on the new street corner once and you know what he said? Well, I’ll tell ya, “Cold silence hanging, outside to see you. Atrophy lacking, holding the window. Presence consuming with no compassion. Just heartless nations filled with no anions. Atoms confusing the world that surrounds me, making it easy to find an ending. Universe changing, but not arranging. Shut out the scheming, but not the brainchild. Designs are plaguing, purpose suggestion.” What? Are you serious, for Buddha’s sake. . . he read me a freaking poem! Who does that nowadays? Although, I did respect his opinion on individuality and the freedom of the carrots.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment