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Description
Smoking a menthol out on the balcony, to get away from the noise, the stale air, and the other people breathing. The universe unveils herself as if to say, "this is how I show my love." Opening up like a maternal lover, spreading her soul soothing sky squirting pillowy grey, it's kind of pretty, this fucking rain.

And like anything pretty with a naturally occurring resting bitch face, each drop can seem, uncaring, unceasing, disengaged, disregarding, and contraveniously indifferent. Each salvic drop splattering across the broken upturned faces of fallen concrete angels who lay in silent judgement. It's funny how nature's art, like a lonely mother, can be both beautiful and cruel, how it can make one appreciate life and death all at once. The rain intensifies, each drop an individual bead of mercury, pouring from the heavens as if it's trying to wash away the world's sins. I take a drag, letting the smoke caress my throat, as the ash from my cigarette is swept away by the wind, only to be replaced by another.

Somehow, the salvation blue square shimmer speaks with a neon pink crucifix. "I hear you," I think. The rain injects itself into the veins, the pores of the concrete, it seeps in, seeds the cracks, the fractures, and the crevices, wet holes and silt slits, blacks, greys, greens, and pyrite overflowing with sensual munificence. It feeds the weeds, rats, junkies, whores, wanderers, dreamers, poets, lovers, and the lost. If it it has skin, it is fair game, to breathe, and to drown, in the endlessness.

I finish the cigarette, flick the butt into the distance, watching it spin, tumbling, before being engulfed by the torrent. I close my eyes, lean back against the cool plastic of the dollar store chair, feeling the raindrops on my face, my neck, my shoulders, my chest. My breath comes out in long, slow puffs of white mist, disappearing into the bullshit, just like everything else.

Momma said, men, real men seek immortalization. A revelation born through the baby-juice leaking from their dicks. It pours into the hungry mouths and wanting holes of lovers and whores. Sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, cousins, aunties, uncles, wives, and sides. Big, small, thin, wide, gaping maw, fisted raw, hairless, shaved, it's a jungle down there, barnyard brawl, puffy, sagging, lips, tits, pussy, ass, feet, cock, armpits for some, it can be eaten with cannibalistic intensity, and fucked 50 shades of artisanal pink, it is fucking disgusting, and beautiful. We are made of soul, sweat, and Saccharin.

We are the universe's fucking mirror in which it comes to know itself. It's a big place, growing pains forced into small minds so we wound up chimeric, polarized & parodic. It is, in many ways, a futile attempt to escape death, the sun rises, the sun sets, which we recreate every morning, every fuck, every session, rising to fall. The flesh of man yearns for forever, in history, through children, who in turn, become cum devourers, rising to fall with the sun, and reach for eternity, only to be consumed by the void, from which we all came.

The rain intensifies, each drop a tiny atomizer, spraying the sidewalk with cold, wet kisses. I watch as a couple passes by, their umbrella a small island of safety amidst the deluge. They look at me, curiously, perhaps wondering why I'm just standing there in the rain, wondering if my dick is out, running fingers over flesh and hard throbbing veins thinking about them while letting the rain wash over me. Maybe they think I'm some kind of weirdo, or maybe they see something in my expression that they recognize, some kind of kinship in our shared insanity. Maybe she will think about me while he is on all fours, she eats his ass and jerks him off downward, and she's thinking about me, inside her, or the sounds he would make gagging on it I smile back at them, nodding slightly, as if to say, "yes, it's all a little fucked up, isn't it?" They smile in return, and continue on their way. She looks back, smiles again, and the two of them disappear into the tempest. What a fucking meme.

Some pretty Kendi reading college bound wish.com Brad Pitt looking shit in a name brand blazer made out of white baby skin, Kill Em' All Inc. A Biden BLM subsidiary. He just fucking shows up at the worst possible time, at the lowest point, at the dumbest choice, the price is right and the mind is prime real-estate . A modern Meet Joe Black, just got done cruising through town on a war-torn orphan with an inverted crucifix shoved in its tiny, little skull, like he's a messianic manifestation riding a dead kid made damned mechanical unicorn, who could never quite grasp Morissette's lyrics, and now he wants to ride you.

“Hello miss, that’s nice skin, can I wear it?” He doesn’t need to try you on, you were born to fit. You giggled a little, just now, admit it, it will do you well…It’s OK to laugh at EVERYTHING, smile some, shit just ain’t that serious. Don't be him.

“Let me help you get clean.” We all remember that shower scene, laughing at incest. Then again, sometimes you need that different breed of dirty. Life's kind of like a recycle bin, when dumpster diving, you have to really get in there and conceptualize, then pull out, skeet on her tits, clear the critique, correct the incorrect corrections. “Bitch, use the pinky, really get in there.”

Sometimes, shit is just funny. Then again, some people are just fucking crazy, or stupid, or both, Natural Born Killer's in the age of commodities. People raised by, molded by, bought, sold, and traded by, divided by corporate ideology. I guess jokes on me, cause if I had one wish, you would be here, riding my face, pushing my thoughts out, to be washed out and away, with the rain.

But I won't have that kind of peace today, the peace of sight, sound, feeling, scent, and taste. That taste <3 so I'm alone, dick out, on a balcony, in the rain.

Description
Smoking a menthol out on the balcony, to get away from the noise, the stale air, and the other people breathing. The universe unveils herself as if to say, "this is how I show my love." Opening up like a maternal lover, spreading her soul soothing sky squirting pillowy grey, it's kind of pretty, this fucking rain.

And like anything pretty with a naturally occurring resting bitch face, each drop can seem, uncaring, unceasing, disengaged, disregarding, and contraveniously indifferent. Each salvic drop splattering across the broken upturned faces of fallen concrete angels who lay in silent judgement. It's funny how nature's art, like a lonely mother, can be both beautiful and cruel, how it can make one appreciate life and death all at once. The rain intensifies, each drop an individual bead of mercury, pouring from the heavens as if it's trying to wash away the world's sins. I take a drag, letting the smoke caress my throat, as the ash from my cigarette is swept away by the wind, only to be replaced by another.

Somehow, the salvation blue square shimmer speaks with a neon pink crucifix. "I hear you," I think. The rain injects itself into the veins, the pores of the concrete, it seeps in, seeds the cracks, the fractures, and the crevices, wet holes and silt slits, blacks, greys, greens, and pyrite overflowing with sensual munificence. It feeds the weeds, rats, junkies, whores, wanderers, dreamers, poets, lovers, and the lost. If it it has skin, it is fair game, to breathe, and to drown, in the endlessness.

I finish the cigarette, flick the butt into the distance, watching it spin, tumbling, before being engulfed by the torrent. I close my eyes, lean back against the cool plastic of the dollar store chair, feeling the raindrops on my face, my neck, my shoulders, my chest. My breath comes out in long, slow puffs of white mist, disappearing into the bullshit, just like everything else.

Momma said, men, real men seek immortalization. A revelation born through the baby-juice leaking from their dicks. It pours into the hungry mouths and wanting holes of lovers and whores. Sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, cousins, aunties, uncles, wives, and sides. Big, small, thin, wide, gaping maw, fisted raw, hairless, shaved, it's a jungle down there, barnyard brawl, puffy, sagging, lips, tits, pussy, ass, feet, cock, armpits for some, it can be eaten with cannibalistic intensity, and fucked 50 shades of artisanal pink, it is fucking disgusting, and beautiful. We are made of soul, sweat, and Saccharin.

We are the universe's fucking mirror in which it comes to know itself. It's a big place, growing pains forced into small minds so we wound up chimeric, polarized & parodic. It is, in many ways, a futile attempt to escape death, the sun rises, the sun sets, which we recreate every morning, every fuck, every session, rising to fall. The flesh of man yearns for forever, in history, through children, who in turn, become cum devourers, rising to fall with the sun, and reach for eternity, only to be consumed by the void, from which we all came.

The rain intensifies, each drop a tiny atomizer, spraying the sidewalk with cold, wet kisses. I watch as a couple passes by, their umbrella a small island of safety amidst the deluge. They look at me, curiously, perhaps wondering why I'm just standing there in the rain, wondering if my dick is out, running fingers over flesh and hard throbbing veins thinking about them while letting the rain wash over me. Maybe they think I'm some kind of weirdo, or maybe they see something in my expression that they recognize, some kind of kinship in our shared insanity. Maybe she will think about me while he is on all fours, she eats his ass and jerks him off downward, and she's thinking about me, inside her, or the sounds he would make gagging on it I smile back at them, nodding slightly, as if to say, "yes, it's all a little fucked up, isn't it?" They smile in return, and continue on their way. She looks back, smiles again, and the two of them disappear into the tempest. What a fucking meme.

Some pretty Kendi reading college bound wish.com Brad Pitt looking shit in a name brand blazer made out of white baby skin, Kill Em' All Inc. A Biden BLM subsidiary. He just fucking shows up at the worst possible time, at the lowest point, at the dumbest choice, the price is right and the mind is prime real-estate . A modern Meet Joe Black, just got done cruising through town on a war-torn orphan with an inverted crucifix shoved in its tiny, little skull, like he's a messianic manifestation riding a dead kid made damned mechanical unicorn, who could never quite grasp Morissette's lyrics, and now he wants to ride you.

“Hello miss, that’s nice skin, can I wear it?” He doesn’t need to try you on, you were born to fit. You giggled a little, just now, admit it, it will do you well…It’s OK to laugh at EVERYTHING, smile some, shit just ain’t that serious. Don't be him.

“Let me help you get clean.” We all remember that shower scene, laughing at incest. Then again, sometimes you need that different breed of dirty. Life's kind of like a recycle bin, when dumpster diving, you have to really get in there and conceptualize, then pull out, skeet on her tits, clear the critique, correct the incorrect corrections. “Bitch, use the pinky, really get in there.”

Sometimes, shit is just funny. Then again, some people are just fucking crazy, or stupid, or both, Natural Born Killer's in the age of commodities. People raised by, molded by, bought, sold, and traded by, divided by corporate ideology. I guess jokes on me, cause if I had one wish, you would be here, riding my face, pushing my thoughts out, to be washed out and away, with the rain.

But I won't have that kind of peace today, the peace of sight, sound, feeling, scent, and taste. That taste <3 so I'm alone, dick out, on a balcony, in the rain.