I've left rose world. You'd never think to miss invisibility this much, I lose today with only one pair: myself and the Jack of hearts. Being drunk on the tracks, he is stuck in love with two days gone. Stability shoots him heroin through the eyes to pleasantly melt down into the drain. Unfortunately like the eggshell of his brother the dentist, aphrodisiacs have kept him a slave of manipulation. So long sees a peasant's fame. It's not vanity, it's claustrophobia. The big mirrors, a super model's fear of being buried alive, and we think this way when belief and inspiration run chapped like the desert that creeps connecting secrets between your toes. East to west then back and again, (I got away with it every time). I took my chances on Interstate Ninety, this mind I shared for fear of its breathing. To me, the clock smiled at eight past ten again, (another waste of man's effort to tell me when to be). Failure seeps into the joints of young artists; a frozen excuse for black paint in the poor man's shriveled eye. What shadows could grasp the sight of such pain! A marvel worthy of every heart's beating (is one which stops them all). Well does one sleep in between the comfy chairs so beautifully, writing away from vapid surroundings falsely known as being alive. The one being loved is honored with lack of attention heartward, so as to accept life looking forward to being alone. Why he gives voice to no one who listens, is how he's become the answered man. He hears himself. That's all he'll ever need. Loud and clear alone another chance, with the poor and the artists, down I-90 on his side.Birth sign: Sagittarius
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