Fucking Please

without reason enough for me to captivate a new motive of insanity –
i contemplate the rawness of my thoughts
the incoherent posture I souly sustain to find nothing more than
scared little bodies of water
that run like pussies as if they had no idea of how to speak.
Cowardice motives are never enough for me or for my bodies of motion –
regret is not in my vocabulary because that is not living – that is robotic
fools daunting through grocery store isles pretending to carry on exotic conversations that in real time mean nothing more than a symbol of moronic irony at best. I’d just like to feel a symbiotic breeze that doesn’t feel like a blistering shot to the chest some times.

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