Don’t make me say what you already know.
No, I will not say “I told you so.”
Sew what you reap—did I say it wrong?
Wronging a right doesn’t take too long.
Longing for nothing means you do not want.
Wanting for nothing is merely a front.
Fronting will damage what I call the soul.
Soul-searching metaphors won’t make you whole.
“Wholesome yet hectic,” as someone might say,
saying what I want to hear all the way.
Ways are just options, illusions of choice.
Choice is no option, and neither’s a voice.
Voice is the way we communicate words.
Words never spoken are like flightless birds—
birds that don’t fly, though, sometimes show you more.
More things can happen, you can’t not explore.
Explore from the place that you but avoid.
Avoiding’s no good, it’s how I destroy,
I destroyed things I said I never would.
Would like to believe. I wish that I could.
Could you maybe, possibly, rid me of doubt?
Doubt that that’s possible, what’s that about?
About to make what one might call a mistake.
Taking for granted, ignoring the stakes.
Steaks only taste good at medium rare.
Rarely do I ever put up my hair.
Hairline fracture? Thank God it’s not broken.
Broken and damaged have become a token.
Tokenization is boring as hell.
Hellscapes are everywhere and I can tell.
Tell me a secret. Kiss me goodnight.
Nighttime has fallen, but there’s still moonlight.