You Said That I Was Right When You Left

Seth H. Monroe



No room at the inn for the »in» crowd. They are loud all of the time with no sense of volume or output...

The fuel that runs a machine no human with any sense or decorum would operate is always foul. It is also prepared for periodical periods of conducting impromptu sermons. Sharp wit is for dullards and there is no point to anything. Compounded words hurdle the consolidated ideas. The path has trailed off into a land of nose candy and there are no keys left, sour or otherwise. The weight of the world is only to be carried across the threshold. Being linear means shit when lines burn worse than expected.

One eye through a keyhole reveals dim light. I must squint due to being awake. If I had more colourful scars I might have won a consolation prize. I lose faith since I am forbidden from belief. Prayer is really touching when you reach for it and if I had but one wish it would be to lack the tactile. Break off into fragments of pieces of components of redundancy, excavating and eviscerating ruins of the ruined.

I have never glued pages together with a dead horse. Show me a sober pony and I'll show you a jockey who has outgrown his saddle (and it is sad). I sing cacophonous swan songs for things that will surely go on for too long. I wear a helmet on my ass since I must protect my assets. I am the omnipresent proctologist here to take your shit. There is so much of it that stinks a sweet stink. I wash my thoughts away and stumble from the sink indifferently. I conquer so that others will concur and I go bonkers because I like the taste. If anyone is reading this, and they should, please leave a shit since not many others give one. With so many heat bags I can't help but feel shivers up my tainted and crooked spine.