Spitball of Fuller Force Than the Mouth it Came from
Watermelon crush from the weight of the bands placed and it squeeze through the pressure of the elastic. Kneading hands, balls of feet, closed in walls, two blaring speakers placed between, hydraulic press. Drills at opposite ends meeting at the middle, creating full passage between. Repeated over micro-moments. Mismanaged mishaps misshaping myself. Mistakes. Missed my chance. Misaligned, and missing in action. Dial Hotline Miami before hotline crisis. Hand me a pamphlet for the zoo, but the pamphlet leads me to a series of cages. The misleading computes, even now. World renowned brainless sphere where the followers come to renounce. Shall subscribe to the identity of slavery so to be in peace of mind, so long as that piece is shared with the stakeholders. Or create new pathways through treacherous lands that aren’t made easier by the lack of preparedness. Lack of backpacks. Lack of maps. Things toddlers could understand. Be swiped before walking a mile in these boots. So, back to the drawing board it would seem. Time to brainstorm yet again, clocking in to this pursuit as if etching a line on the prison cell. We’d do better in a cell. Fare weller in a shell. Well, fair enough if you can’t bear the burden of a life less lived. Well-travelled wanderers rarely question the next step. Fairly less festered than the next man on the road, the newcomer. The cellulite, some might say if they were attempting to sound clever. Never better than forever than a knife to the throat or a bullet to the neck. Never better than the truth teller becoming the joke setter of the year. The only truth known is the soul’s own. So then, where did the truth go? Where did the meaning go? Of myself… and of this? Truth is, I lost it a long time ago.
But you still chose to read it.