Thanks for teaching me a thing or two about love

Discovered at a young agefor whatever it mayfor your real wordsand your presencefor me being mefor all being all

Sunday night anxiety

Is it like how the pig feels, on the way to the slaughterhouse…

Where you are

You’re calling for me In this corner of the cell where there’s nothing But walls You’re in my head You’re wanting my company I can feel it barely tingle like some current running through a wire in the brain I stare at the wall when there’s nothing there But the more I stare, I feel

Danger zone

Live or die Sweat in my eyes Ya make me feel so alive

Too far off road, uneasy sounds of an industrial site

When I pissed myself in China

No, it’s not something that I’m proud of; it never is, but some moments are so effing awkward, traumatic, yet thrilling that I have to write about it. The smell of sweat when you’re traveling alone for two straight days; running about here and there, trying to figure shit out while you follow rules less

Nonchalance

Mayday notes

When feeling like digging deep into ground head down Stop all music In a quiet room, lay a different way Body distortion, body contortion Breathe, from tummy Earth yourself

Yin Yang

Maybe it’s time, I don’t know, it happens every late morning And once in a while before bed… This feeling of total control over my life It’s like magic, with tricky hands I can see where the ball strikes next And wins. It’s like that in your harried presence It’s your commanding glare Looking at