Greetings From an Epiphany Long Forgotten
By Adam Gaucher
"You sick bastard" keeps running from my mind, directed at me with a smile. My chest caves-in in silent laughter, I'm in public for Christ's sake, I can't afford vacations. It's bad enough that they can hear my heart beating, catching a glimpse off my insanity in their eyes. They don't realize that the purity they taste is in the air I've exhaled. Another thing is that it's been so long, since I've been trapped in the void, in the cliché itself. Sweetness swirls bringing love and singing, in key where keys lie to unlock selfish desires. I've got nothing to live for, that's my whole fucking point, child. I care for my space as wasting wastes away again. I can sit sipping life through only life itself, it was a free gift, why should we expect anything (else) from it? It's like expecting your legs to walk forever, like wishing your stars to collect dust no longer, like fishing missing links in a fabricated river, like dying in warm arms with no thirst or hunger. We love to hate when perception is cluttered, from one another to another to another again, and it is there we sit oblivious to the fact, that it is ourselves that we are hating instead. Written April 13th, 2002 © on Apr 14 2002 10:40 AM PST 17 • 0 • 12
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""You sick bastard" keeps running from my..."