prolong

Lengthen and prolong, that would make a life and charcter, right?  Why not bursts,
I watch a man say farewell, fuck off, and shoot himself in the mouth out the back of his skull, brains and matter,
I think what matter?  Though haunting for reality, I think of films and scenes with porn stars that have died by suicide or of overdoses, even car crashes and murder and I think then, that is haunting to have jacked to a woman who will be dead in years, weeks, days to come, they are dead.
That is not reality, I knew no character, I imagined and felt away.
I tell myself stories of some fuck in a car or window, some asshole stranger at work, some nobody, they mean nothing, I think how they breathe and live with themselves and how they drive and sleep.
Death as each will end is an illustration on realms and space, where your death is seen as a caricature, some moronic vision of who we are.  We all do it.  There is no death that is seen clearly, no life that is known, we ourselves can't even find ourselves.  And is this what we live for, what we tell stories for, what we make plans for, to feel haunted by death?
Like it means anything.
Life for that matter -

maggots

maggots crawling on rotten food, they slink and burrow in filth, wet and molding, make sick with foul odor, be it them or the wretch, is it what is or what transpires, I watch and cringe, after having opened the styrofoam box.  how did I not see this before, was the smell released by me opening, have I been so filthy to not acknowledge what my scent is, is this why people won't stand by me, is it my lack of sense.

stop that stupid smile, I see it, she looks, you stupid grin, and another makes joke, you stupid anger, you shallow waters, you ankling, putrid shit.

sweating out my shirt, it sticks and stinks, they know my habits, I think they can't tell, I'm let off by reasoning, not that I reason, what reason have I.  is there excuse for feeling.  thou shalt not.

handsome man, looking sharp, still reeks of all his guilt.

count out your misconceptions

should say beat my hands
on the back of drums
feel a heavy
take your medicine every six hours
or that sickness
may overwhelm
I breathing hard
feeling subtle and lost
feeling forced and drawn
feeling hell on my heels
feeling my head muggy
swarmy and hazy
lets one eye follow
flow to the other
no cross
by damn
freight a billow
count out your misconceptions
allot my sordid names

And when done
find some air
to breathe
and refresh
with some water
make it clean
well, cleaner