thirty nine

what if you rolled over.
and given the choice.
to never wake up.
would you choose
the beat of your heart.
or to finally meet your mark.
inst life just one big grand fuck.


on a utterly unrelated scale. the yeasayer.



raw bliss.

thirty eight

one. he looks like a bobble head character with a clown nose. feel free to glance above.
two. he finds running fun a necessity. a drug that he has not been able to take forever.
three. he is proclaiming runners withdrawal due to his busted knee.
four. he rather be left alone to play than with the other kids.
five. he feels largely awkward without his his music player.
six. he will never understand or ever will be in love. just have intercourse goddammit.
seven. he then again has never had intercourse. or felt all the trash talk about sugar spice and everything nice.
eight. he does not believe in marriage and everything it represents.
nine. he believes in crystals chakras magic reiki and all that sortastuff.
ten. he hates loud obnoxious humans although there are times he was exactly that.

plus

one. he believes his death will be cause by getting run over. the only question is when.
two. he always will be in his own world when his headphones are on.
three. he always need more clothes. to distract passers by from his face.
four. he feels out of character doing this. the sole reason being to stall studying for his exams.
five. he wants to grow up to be jamie oilver bon iver and an amish guy.
six. he researches on food probably way too much but he still does it.
seven. he wants a new oven. and a camera. and so many others it will be a whole other post.
eight. he wishes he a creative genius. and a zillion times smarter. working on the former.
nine. hes the kid that skips orientation cause he rather work.
ten. he aspires one day to farm his own crops herbs and daily staples.

plus

one. he hates anyone touching him. pats on the back included.
two. hes this old now but still acts like hes ten. please refer to picture above.

ps. thats not his shirt its his fathers.

thirty seven

words immaterial
no explanation desired
for a love like this.

my solitary premature valentines days post.