Pain and love

You believe in pain and love
But I don’t believe in pain and love
I walk a billion miles down the desert road, bare feet cracked with the hard tar
And bogging through the sand, dying with the sweat
Sucking out of me like vacuum
Left with skin that shrivels and rusts under the sun
Brown and burnt
Ashy bones
Closed eyes see nothing but darkness
They’re small and full of salt
There’s the blue sky, and miles of golden earth
Beauty and deceit
But there’s nothing but movement
And numbness
Pedal by pedal
You die as you fall to keep alive
Eating sand
Resting to believe that you can walk no longer
On your knees the hot breeze moves knotted hair
They say god is the sun and it makes everything golden
And god kills because of it
Treacherous beauty
I don’t know if it’s pain or if it’s love
But I just believe in love
As I lie living or dying
Numb
Without pain

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Three guys, all f’d Up

Her life was getting miserable-r, just like anybody else’s, but while getting into that cavity that one falls into in the back of their minds; that cavity that makes everything a thousand times more horrible and painful; she had a thought– there were others too, just as miserable.
They live perfect lives and always have something missing inside. Product of a complex world. Less time using hands, more time forming thoughts that have no basis
No relative thing to hang on to.

He leads a perfect life and has everything else, but he still misses that. That time when he used to care less about everything. Now he realizes he’s old and is only growing older, and now he would do anyyythinnngggg
Anything
To get it back. It only took over a decade for him to realize how much time he had lost.

Then there’s him. Running on diet Pepsi. Needing it every five minutes to wake up. Mundane drive around town, mundane job and a slow life. He’s got all the time in the world and it’s always spent on useless stuff. When the sun hits his head from the side, he could look like a star of all sorts. He’s got a skinny body and a tiny head; you could put a cape on him and call him superman. He hops into his beat-up car and sputters off. There’s bills to pay, other odd end jobs to find, possibly a nice girl to hope for, and the pursuit of god damn happiness.

Then there’s that guy. Everything’s going right for him, but it’s just those other a-holes that ruin it for him. He just needs his box of food and a night of watching sports with his curtains all closed. He just needs a girl to make herself ready for him at all times. There’s no concept of time. There’s no rush for anything, there’s no aim. There’s just eating, breathing, fucking, and using the toilet. If the world would let him, he’d eat a box of pizza forever and grow forever into a ball. They would roll him down the stairs, roll him down the streets; he wouldn’t care. That’s life for ya. It’s just others who have it all jacked up. What a bunch of losers.

Thus, in the end there’s nothing to be happy about, and yet even more, there’s nothing to be sad about knowing that everyone is just as miserable as the other. There really could be no misery when misery is the norm. She saw the guy gulp in the bottle of Pepsi to get a kick start on his life. She saw the reflection of the dude in a car trying to race back in time. She saw the fat dude reading about sports in his phone with apathetic eyes. Dim sunlight, fading reflections in time, slow moving speedy car rides. Stars in our eyes. Buzzing delusions, vacant dreams. Our faces converge and we look at one another. There’s a sense of wonder, but there’s an ever greater sense of hopelessness. We ride down the road together, our heads rocking around.

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