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I am enjoying this relationship with the interpersonal,

This time-honored tradition of forgetting myself in a crowd,


Merely a sheep baahing fuck me to a wolf
hoping for a response that is positive without repercussions
Feeling tied to these I, Me, My Ideas like a masochist on the rack,
Whip me my love I need this

Pain follows me around like a puppy with abandonment issues


and I cannot help but to embrace, push away, embrace, push away,
when all along the sad little thing was but a figment of my childhood imagination
formed in the back of my mind while I watched grown-men cry into young women's arms
and tried against your god to rationalize the shattering social-standards in front of me
Was this too a dream? Did I imagine this circumstance, this sketch hypothesis on a napkin--only
to burn them away with my desire?

No.

This is not a dream any more than my dreams are not real, a story perhaps, is a better word
A story written haphazardly with ironic intentions and a twisted sense of humor,
I used to fight the author for copyrights only to realize I was fighting myself in a mirror
Trying to shift the blame of this predicament to you, back to me, to you, back to me
“This is your fault. You are responsible.” But you don't even exist, so my logic must be flawed,

Ninth grade taught me that if A equals B and B equals C than C must equal A but when I tried to
link my dreams to my reality to my disappointment I found that ninth grade had taught me
nothing.

“Yes my love, all things revert back to logic and reason and faith will only destroy you in the
end”

Why do we lie like this to children, is it because our dreams have failed?
Is it because our faith has fallen bottle bottom and we can't stand to see our young incarnations
follow?
Should we just desert them in the desert with a peyote flower and a gallon of water?
Tell them to find themselves at ten years old and when they realize that this whole exaggeration
of Irony is a metaphor for nothingness and everything--
throw light bills in their face and tell them to pay up or get out?

“I am sorry child, I did not mean to crush your hopes with my fingers,
I merely wanted to protect you,
to shelter you from the storm of selfishness the world brews.
Forgive me for letting my rationale taint your innocence?”

This is the story of a man with a hat and nowhere to go, a conclusion spiraling downward and
upward
and leading to the realization that there is no conclusion
We are as infinite as an Idea, only this now giving full credit to our creation, to our being, our
essence, our soul if you will,
remember that in the end I am you and you are me
and together this world is our dream and our sin and our love and our hate and our compassion
and tears and joy and resistance is fucking futile!

So kiss me my dear, it can only lead nowhere and everywhere at once.

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