quasi_sean

understand there is a reason for all of this.
no sleep, sweaty sex in teh drunken hrs. after bar hopping back and forth making motions taking shots sore throats and agony held in brown paper bags the far-gone are stumbling around like zombies with a purpose strange folks wake up on your early morning sofa there are gallons of water in your throat and covering the kitchen floor half-eaten pizzas and boxes of macaroni and cheese are littered around the living room--watch the kitty navigate thru the junk walls leaping and meowing at the mess of marijuana burns on the coffee table--there is bad poetry written in my notebook, bad poems i write intoxicated handing them out to their owners and sizing up the walk to the car, pissing dumbly in the parking lot watching the sky grow darker and darker and speeding thru suburbia streets and needing a burrito but finding a candy bar that is melting in your pocket.
i see the need for adventure.
i see the need to move away, stop it all, find a lonely spot to share and write away the demons the insecurities the mind-fucks the bathrooms and technology.
find me next to the trees and water on an afternoon where i'm growing a beard perhaps and drinking tea while i type this away.
i'd give anything for a change.



*sigh*