Golden Boy In the Ether
By Neurosine
My best friend was a poet, my best friend didn't know it, he hoped he wouldn't blow it, lose the moment. His eyes were tired from being alone, He wandered around, became lost to his home. True north has become far away. Like the vast multitude of stars, in the distance...lies infinity. We all believe in something, we can not see. Perhaps there are invisible things? Think so. He's building the models, complexing the complex, his skin too does suffer. It suffers alone. So he would choose to believe. So he would decieve. And he was his own fool more than once, more than twice, more than thrice. That was an eternity the first time. He stepped up to the plate, hoping and believing in another simultaneous eigenstate. He liked to exist and be happy. If he could do that, there were no costs in life. Written January 27th, 2002 © on Jan 27 2002 07:00 AM PST, Neurosine 0 • 12
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"My best friend was a poet,..."