Journal For The Day

Pit Pit Pitstop

Chug chug chugstop

Rock rock bottom

Tick tock, tick tock

Life goes on

like a series of sounds and smells and fears

And an overwhelming desire

that no call can appease.


Like flickering flames

that barely lick an inch of the universe in you until you become

just a massive being of too much that boils down to nothing at all.




I hate that word.

Everything has a reason but not really because bad stuff comes out of nowhere so often.


So does good stuff.

And so cynically speaking, we’re a joke.

Optimistically, we’re fucked so just smile.


And write words on paper that fade as quick as memory.

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