To Live You Must First Die
for ten years i’ve been too busy daydreaming of a garden not in a box but in the soil of a desk wooden and filled with the things you can’t hold enough money not to think of it and Bukowski his big wrinkled nose on my soft shoulder correcting my grammar daydreaming about blowing it all up going nuclear for nuclear’s sake just to prove atoms exist determinism isn't real that pain and pleasure are sisters that a double edged sword truly is expensive daydreaming of an ocean of chaos the scraps of what was placing them jigsaw so they become what will be daydreaming of pressing the button pulling the string lighting the match and stepping into free fall just to see what I grab to save myself.
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