…over a quarter of my sentences begin with ellipses.
the objective’s to sigh. the intent it carries? illicit
malicious design leaves my lips but ends so benign.
there isn’t a problem when it rains- you couldn’t tell that I cried.
it becomes complicated to explain- when it wells in my eye.
he pretends that he’s not, even though he bottles up the pain.
locks it in a cage, then polishes his crooked crown.
used to looking down, when things aren’t looking up.
one day Life’ll flash before my eyes.
not sure if that flash is good enough.
been given a gift to scribe every moment as happened.
with more details. more girth, more exposure, and factors
mere fractions of seconds, become volume series.
weeks of dejection becomes your life’s communal theory.
consummate. times snapped. here’s a problem that i had.
what are words from wise men, when philosophers die sad?
to my own respite, id serve up a bourbon with sprite.
words became blurry and slurred overnight.
friends displayed worry. what’s that term to describe?
oh right, now.
circle of life. how funny. it hurts when I bite down.
I’d go in my journal and write thousands of wordy delights.
to make sense of what happened, to an essay tore up outta spite.
inherited words. characters without a character’s worth
how embarrassing to have to establish, what to others- barely needs words.
parameters towards my dignity gave an insatiable thirst.
lessons invaluably learned through every varying turn.
maneuver like van Gogh’s Jupiter through mercurial etching
to live frozen as a painter- in the world’s most peculiar settings
to see beauty in carnage, objectify tragedy as a series of concepts.
rather than unfurling tempers flaring from a deity’s context.
I hope my eulogy is written in blood. life romanticizes the beast.
computerize all of my content. analyzing complete
molecules in your garden, fantasize Mon Cheri.
sift through the nucleus’ car-wreck. make a wish.