Thomas Arthur Schaefer

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Cigarette Suspected

Fucking sports... and beyond, fucking lazy fingers... fucking lazy reluctance. Ahhh... anyways thanks for the thrill of the game. A Thrasher as the new.... hmmm. Unfortunately the game still leaves me wanting more. Prehaps it's something I can not obtain anymore. Shame... Can't stand the sound of her voice... yet I hold to her every night. Something there intoxicates me. She rips at my health, knowingly. I ask for her again and again each night. I curse the false ideal of her. A form... so perfect and familiar to me. I build it higher each night. I sleep in longer each day. I doom myslef further dwelling on her.


A warm and yeilding form... but hell, I'm the same for her at any moment. This isn't what she's yeilded. What has... she's become? I am in the question again, as it is asked giving her love. There are no questions as to our intentions. I am full, she is full, and $30 to me. I hand the money back to her.

We was willing to give. Willing to dive head first into brown water. But we still needed her to teach us how to swim again... how to eat again... how to play again... swim with her. Make her into and about addition. She should have associated the word love with her name.


You still are.
Ready to give it all up...

Nie. Nie.

I am so weak.... so weak.

No comments: