Jigsaw Heart. Try to put it together

See. It’s retribution. It’s emblematic of your initial assessment. It’s been erratic. Every visceral session seems to be coming back to bite me in the ass. Are you pisces? I heard that some pisces were, pretty rad. clueless to the superfluous mix. clueless to what i’m doing or did. am i pursuing a gig. am i pursuing cause pursuing’s a bitch. It’s useless. Every mistake I make, or made is etched in razor blades in every thing i do’ed or i did. and everything i do’ed or i did, is the biggest, single most catastrophic thing on the planet. cristians feelings are an inchworm, nothing to get upset over; it happened. I’m supposed to forget. I’m supposed to act like it didnt even occur or had action. imagine a bird. yup, cerulean skies in the background, yup, not a single cloud in sight. yes, both wings flying at a height above it’s regular flight. zoom out of focus. blurry reach. Now imagine a second bird with one wing. trees clearly visible. altitude considerably low. sigh. gliding to get within wings reach with unbearable might. who’s the second bird? edit: and this idiomatic stone didnt kill the two birds, (it almost killed me). GOD damnit! Wish a comparison to birds wasnt suitable now. IS THERE A SUTURE? Like a symptomatic expression OF aerial gaze that didnt seem so arid today?. Like what the hell was I doing til now? It’s useless. You’re ruthless, Hardly keep it together. God. If I clasp my fists any tighter my hand is capable of squeezing an atom. Split it into till we’re wiped clean from the datum. I mean it. Solely wish it were true. Wish anger bits mixed in anew. Pistol chambers seem so apocalyptic to this inaugural world. When wind freezes your skin seeps an aura as the muteness hits pause. & we swirl. Dealt two blows, to the overbearing passive aggressive. so manic depressive. You told me what you wanted before you didnt want it to hit, and wanted me to understand that you wanted it without telling me all that you did. I tried to understand where you were going, but the manipulation was titillating. Indicative of  vindication where most of the passion was closed in. I’m tired of questioning. You were my boat, and by that I mean when I sailed along on the coast. Sure everything underneath me would stay down. Laid out a blueprint, that was slowly stained out with red. I hate headaches. But everyday, every morning I rubbed my eyes and the chest pain, just going over the argument the night before. Eye-sores a common occurrence. It cost as a person. Pits of flowery petals. Not of flowers, but of ice with a patternized crystal that maximizes the the colors of this slightly plaid sonnet, with a luminous missile that twinkles when light refracts off it. Coffee and liquor, sometimes I mix them and call it elixir. A brew of congested chestnut. Nothings better than driving in a convertible top 6 speed through a closed tunnel layoff where the temperatures below freezing at 4 in the mo’rning.

You know what’s sexy? You.

You heard how I breathe when I sleep

or how I did those odd little moan noises
it was funny. I just laughed. At how we laughed.
Sad. Now I’m sad over how we laughed.
A neptuniun fury. Name it a curtain call
The brim of the acrylic cloth that buried shadows in our love
hallow in the squeaky bed bolted in with rusty lugs
lunging forth to start the sunup, under covers dried with passion
in our eyes their lies a passive, sane, perhaps a way, cause absence
makes my heart grow odder. 
struck gold. pick axe made out of my own bone. 
marrow that you’d swallow, diamond in the rough. drone
piling up. glow in the dark. we’d pair up together so close to heart 
if we were of other genus from the start the geniuses on Noah’s arc couldn’t have us thrown apart.

I like fictional books. The main character is always me.

Feel the vectors into orbit, melting into fiscal porn
Each waking moment. Exists to mourn the pensive rigor mortis
And I hate myself so much every. single. morning.
Its like clockwork. Lonesome. Staring in the mirror.
See a monster. Bones drugged. Mainly see the errors.
Home drunk. Sloppy. With a motor function failure
Open palm my soul in one. The shodokans prepared
Im off the bat. Im off the case. Im solely here to reap
A wad of air I waste. So oddly placed you forget to even breathe.
You wake up in your sleep. Catch your breath, and then youre weak
Wake to a dim reality that youre never truly buzzed
Whole life I never felt hungover.
Till I was happy once, then got drunk, so THEN I felt hungover
Like ignorance was bliss, sort of an ignorance to drugs
To duly know that without or with that my life just really sucked
Like ive been wasted the entire time, while I was fucking sober
Bring the jester in, and clamor while I become a fucking stoner.
Unbelievable. The whole time I was fooled into misnomer.
Eat and see, consume and teach then touch just like conformist.
You arent watching a trainn wreck this is not a pure performance.
This is unadulterated steroids being pumped into my assortment
Lie inside apartment. Learing at the star scape.
See your jaw to constellate. Im so pleased to see your star face.
Everything I wrote, always had someone in mind.
Overcoat. And overwhelmed. Now dear no one resigns

We’re 5 minutes apart.

Cause in this world? Your worlds restricted. 
When curtains shine through blackness. We play and then we’re victim
Every person out to get us.

every person tries compassion?
It’s more than mere prediction. There the serpent lies unchallenged
But you whirl and try to damage. Cause you’re weak and your worlds afflicted.
But to no concern to you, that serpent turns into a worser type of dragon
You’re hurt. Your mind abandons. No service. Wires. Synapses
The sadness morphs to scene addiction. Your journeys right of passage
Feel worthless. I have had it. And addiction turns to habit.
Fervid. Decline to comment. You persons can’t certainly try to fathom!
what’s become or what’s to come. but you can read it in description
the words are tiny, and they’re captioned.  then you hurl up your prescriptions.
It’s tightly woven. Mixture of ambition. Has slowly earned it’s actions.
Artist dies with his work, and this model just burns inside the pageant
It’s of worth, and it’s off-course. The piercing pains pans in. AND I want more
Of course what’s written inside the diction, are more than I could manage
It’s the purpose. And these conditions. Are perfect. my mind is madness.
And remember, y
ou can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.