disynthetic

it's raining once again. warm breeze blows while the water chills me to nigh shivering. the ground--still cold from yesterday's bitterness--is moist and soft like there isn't any room for the night sky's bullshit tears. obviously its had enough and so have i. no way will there be another day to spill my milk and stain my white shirttommorrow may be another day, tommorrow may be better or it may not, but tommorrow this will not be 'okay'.

cherry bowls and the ensuing pits--and so this too shall come to pass. cliches of memory, memory used like a torn condom. cold jism leaking and sad, never to be anything more.

the stupid bitch's worrying about her fucking highlights not matching her chosen Wednesday outfit. the asshole of a strange man that couldn't come to grips or make peace with his immoral desires. the trusted family man who couldn't provide for his family and left them.

these things happen each day in their own uniquely different ways. and it is beautiful. a beauty that definitely doesn't come out to say 'hi'. it hides away under layers of repulse and filth. nothing other than raw human weaknesses we all portray. nothing separates us but degrees. like the degrees of death, happiness, and all in between the two. leftover sins for a starving belly.

and i wonder what's next.