if there's love...

if there's love... it must be three o'clock in the morning. because afternoon moods dismantle anniversary fevers sweating beneath apocalyptic ambitions. granted, the human mind is plainly limited in this contrived society of unbridled delusion. under the influence of institutionalized violence, finance, and dynasty. but worst case scenario...i wake up in a coma. socially awkward. walking towards infinity. the almighty trinity of instantly limitless faction. the fact is falsely fiction. this paragraph is in fact half assed blasphemy. and karma is impacting reaction to the most lucratively grisly degree. feeeed me.

please...

ok so i feel like doom. what exactly do you say at this time of day? besides goodbye, i guess. welcome to my world girlie. they say bartenders get mucho booty, but best believe i mix many more drinks than sensual juices. everyday is a new life to the wise man. perhaps that's exactly why i am twenty-one and a half years of age. still living this perfectly virgin existence. but every time i blink i dream and like every other manhattan bound commuter i bleed. freely. easily. and piece by piece i am indeed reaching combustion. which is exactly my fateful path.

that's why i laugh. 80's baby. 90's child. two-thousand something scumbag. i miss stick stickly, ninja turtles, and erckle. i think i got stung by a bee in my sleep. believe me. i breathe easy. live leisurely. and dock drama. leave it to lincoln. when one basement apartment is boxed up a block dies. for me, december is a long way off, but until then i'll ponder my portions and begin planning how the fuck i will afford life. but for now, i'm happy drying my socks on the cable box.