quasi_sean

I would love to bottle my empathy and sell it on the black market to the hateful morons who run the idiot trains that keep me up all nite as I toss and turn in my drunk stupors with Miles Davis and his beautiful eyes in the background. The mosquitos are eating my ears and I'm too tired to slap them or to fond of their company to bother w/trying to fight a futile battle, so I give up and accept my fate as the boy in the Mexican blanket coccoon who is wild and cries often and even the neighbors press their faces against my sliding glass door to watch me and leave their breath trails as obvious as fingerprints to remind me that I'm not alone and I'm more like the circus freak, ya dig?
Leave your nickel in the box and eat your popcorn and cover your eyes when you feel necessary, cause sometimes it's just ugly....like a big ol' bag of what the fuck?