sixteen and still double-knot my shoes.

No matter how many philosophers are set on the same idea, there just isn't enough combined brainpower to realize what I have just realized:

There is no end.

Art is(tic) End(evour)s.
Art is Ends.

you can never prepare for the worst if the worst is outside your hands,
console yourself,
pretend you're wonderful,
but they will only see your flaws.
they need to see your flaws for their own self-image.
they are dependent upon your flaws
so make yourself dependable.

frustration entangles the minds of the weak at heart

burn, burn, burn.
her eyes flash mine a glance.
her barren eyes.
abandon me, you ignoble wretch.
i will incinerate you.
burn, burn, burn.
fucking burn.

just blink. just once. close your eyes. and blink.

bbllliiiinnnk.

take the world in one savory nibble.

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you always have time to turn around, look me in the eye, wink, blow a kiss, and bow
before the lonliness sets in.
teach me to hold back the tears because i'm not quite partial to learning it on my own.

please come home.

Sweet, Sweet Depression. Longing for a dream that will never fully recover its meaning. Encrypted symbolism, dreams without apparent value. Who will be the ear to listen to my interpretation of a freshly brewed metaphor?