Think about how you are going to die…alone…with no one in the world thinking all that much about you, if they are thinking about you at all.
Feeling lonely, all of the time, and lost, all of the time, and generally feeling a sense of anguish, and lost, just feeling very lost, and fickle and frail, paper thin.
You walk where you walk to, trying not to think about anything in particular, trying to be vacant, and pretty, and vapid, and free…a little red kiss on a bar napkin.
Painting up your face for the confused folks, to convince them about yourself, who you are, where you are, what you intend to be…and what is it you intend to be little one? I never quite understood that.
I have floundered…but I have floundered with a purpose and a reason…I have an odd direction…but it is a direction, and there is a destination, and I am getting there one awkward flop at a time…I hope you are too.
Treasuring these ugly wilted up things, glomming on to little remnants of things that have become much too ugly and vicious to just go for a walk in the park…you know…do you know?
I just want to smile…and I will smile…on my own…when ever I want to…when ever and how ever the fuck I choose to.