There’s a desk and a ledge. There’s a lack of sex and sore privates. There’s a misunderstanding and words that don’t connect like I’d hoped they would. Senseless meandering and a mind full of thoughts tinkered obsessively. I grasp my inner child and take adulthood far too seriously. Far. Too. Seriously. He’d be better off with me but when I had the chance I didn’t jump. My nose was sore from all the locked doors I had already jumped at. It’s a clusterfuck it’s being a grown up and learning to speak professionally that gets under my skin–just let me speak. Don’t expect it to be sensicle but I demand you respect it. My speech that is. Let me open my mouth and speak in symbols that only briefly connect in some time or space somewhere in the universe. Wide are my eyes when you let me search search search obsessively. My skull, it parts like the red sea and the synapses cross from slavery into a divine place. There’s a message in there somewhere. Somewhere among the chaos among the concepts among the obtuse triangles. But we’re all just too tired to find it.

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