thirty

the picture being too grossly ugly for human eyes.
but it was my achievement
four: twenty six: twenty nine
popping happypills with my running shoes.
thanking my tunes

that old guy still trashed me though.

twenty nine

my only hope would be the fortytwo dot oneninefive monsters out of their cells chasing me.
cramped every possible sound grunt and nudge into my tech band bursting at its seams
bubbling over the edges. second savior.
the very least i had a rockin real meal before i tumble over implode and meet my match.

twenty eight

what we need now
compassion.
empathy.
and
warren buffet to spawn
like hell.

twenty seven

the accident.

the ending.