just feel like typing.

just feel like typing
rolling rocks over,
hollow banks with a caste style ranking of negative numerics minusing loss to X amount of
hollowed out near misses of lives nearly lived but tripped
over the broken stems of the equal to division of and ripped limbs of and amputating castration of monosexual autoerotic hetero-introspection of  
What?  
the hell am I typing about now?

god save the children who are educating their bodies under the secret eye
of adult perversions spying,
hungry thirsty longing lusting envy
quaking shame and alleviating through chastise-mentoring no no  No stop

Puke.  haste makes waste,
regurgitate slowly and get the full taste....

electroshock shock therapy, convulsive neural redemption,
recharge and revamp,
drug-up and own up to your helplessness and surrender,
sit quietly and nod, drool and take this spin on it:  
you can't help but know what you didn't until now and
now that you know you know what you had and have
lost it
gave it up and
folded it within a pocket of memory and the sharp edges are stabbing you
where?  
Forget it.  Drool.  Masturbate.  Regret it.

Well, now that we're all  here,
we may as well play with each other and make this like a "moment,"
like a treasured intimate like "thing",
like something we'll tell our abortions about,
like something we'll think about on our death bed,
the bed of our resting placenta,
mourning for our severed chord when nothing made sense
but didn't know what sense was or how to make it

I miss  the fortune of the blind.  
disengage your senses starting with the common....
let's not make a serious matter of this.  

Writing is stupid futility.