Sometimes i like the weakness i feel, sometimes i want it to swell.
Sometime i crave the weakness, the inferiority the vulnerability, sometimes i feel inspired , when i understand weakness.
My life is cosmopolitan as features mutltiply.I wonder where all the birds have gone? Its summer isn’t it? Break me, take from me until i have nothing, and leave me there to wallow in my pool of selfness and i’ll decide when i want to come, its not right now, neither in time to come.Yet let me down, here and let me up and i’ll tell you when i want to go, but not right now.
I watch myself from high up, down there waitng from myself to realise my life and i wonder if i ever will, will i move ? I think that i always know that i will move and i wonder if people know that i’ve moved and will they move too and will they see my sucess and my hell.
Its so fucking abstract this theory, of perhaps mindless tormoil.
Somtimes i don’t think, i just follow the words, the pattersn that present themselves out of some random generator that the maker has made as a toy for the universe to play with.Sometimes i wonder down the paths of rhyms and find many things that i never though i’d decide to find, and these things i find and i hold them, i put them in my waist coat as i walk the alleyways of this dark night -the sounds are echos , but they rattle the mind in intention.
One day i’ll walk these alleyways again and i’ll wonder why they havn’t stoped and then i’;; realise they’re still there and perhaps i should n’t be here, maybe i should leave, find somewhere to hide, away from this place, perhaps thesesounds are apart of me, will i move away like that? No matter where i go they are there, those sounds, in my mind, can i read my mind, these days i don;t know where i am, hows my head been lately? Escape from myself can i fear more than knowing who i am? Fucker round all day in my head, these gremlins – sighns of my inability or perhaps my insanity.
Does it pay to listen to christianity ,
profanity engulfs my head , mythoughs – these things are back again, please i find myself saying , asking, but to who di i ask, who can help me? Myself ? I can;t help myself, the source and destination share the same sickness and disrepear, i think i’ll cut my hair – its too long, and its too short its middle, like middle between sickness and health and yes and no, or perhaps sanity and insanity or somthing in between that – repetition is a fictitous loop that in its being just caters for the eventuallity of generic outcomes – that always means the same thing esentailly.
It’s my weakness, it’s upoosed to lead to my distress, yet to my countness i always run, sometimes this is fun, let me follow the sun, and discover the rhym that fits this time ?
I know my weakness and i know how to hide it and fight it.