greenbouncyball

So I understand that you’re tired of

My questions

Don’t you think I’m tired of asking them?

性格の不一致があるから、多分別れた方がいいね、君の写真を見ると別れたくないのに

It’s been less than 200 days, I think 

And I’m exhausted

I’m tired of my stomach hurting 

My ears are tired

From straining for the words I want you to want to say

I’d like to give a name to the feeling I’m feeling

Though at the same time I really don’t see the point

I feel it don’t I 

Why label it with another label

Don’t look too hard for meanings hidden amongst this scribble

The problem is stated simply enough 

Everything is just atoms molecules and matter

So how and why could anything matter 

I’m not ready for the day you’ll be able to read my mind 
The thought of your reaction worries me 

Sometimes I deprive myself of sleep and seek out a man with a nice long beard
What has the longest hair been able to see?
Where was this man when that longest hair was mere stubble?
“You must assume they’re gonna jump,” they told him. 
Eight hours a day with his finger pegged to one button. 
I’m staring now at a business man wearing nice clothes, his claws clutching his shield of a briefcase, top of the line. 
He exits the train and my gaze refocuses on a different man, who had been standing behind the first guy. 
This business man’s older. His suit’s faded. The brand of his briefcase would not impress you. 
But how different can two beards be?

 What is it about fatigue that makes me see the beauty in ordinary things…As if the invisible barrier of perception-lackness is melted. And all of a sudden you find yourself contemplating the beauty of a table….

He woke up to a warm sunny day, which reflected the smile on his lips. 
He made some oatmeal as he got ready, seeing no reason to break routine. 

At 7:56 he left the house, and waved at the sweet old lady, beaming underneath her green sagging beanie.

He really ought to her invite her over to dinner soon, she sure did love his little munchkins as much as he did, he thought fondly as he chuckled to himself. 

He got to the station to catch the 8:09 train to Philly, as usual. 

He hummed slightly to himself on the escalator up to the platform, looking through the dirty window at the soft, dreamlike snow losing the battle to the engulfing warmth. 

 He got to the platform yellow line three minutes before the 8:09.

He would be on time today!

Such a shame, though, that today he had a different destination in mind.

At 8:08 Paul smiled, heard the familiar roar of the train engines, and took his last breath. 

And he took a little hop. 

Perhaps the shorter the poem is, the more potential it has to torture us 

Cream bending and bowing freely in coffee knows not of the semblance it bears to smoke being ripped and imploded by the air around us

When deciphering human nature,    is it better to look at what we buy in stores, or garbage?

   Should we look at products, or what we throw away?

    Are we looking in the wrong place, or should we not be looking at all?

I’ve seen every race

Now I don’t mean every single one, obviously

But all the outcomes, all the possibilities, every angle

The pounding has thundered from the ground to my ears to my core and smothered me…

.

.

A true winner usually starts near the top, knowing an early lead is unnecessary 

There’s a calmness about him, a lack of fear

A patience that suppresses that one last push

But there’s vulnerability

A willingness to be lead, to be guided

Show me how I will dominate 

Raw talent and knowledge

Acceptance of dominance

Man and beast fuse to reach

We got on the train as one

She knew

And I did as well

To look would have been as unwanted as it was excessive

She said come with me

And I said no