Then You're a Vegetable

A person once asked me "when do you know life really get's to be worth-wild?"
personally i feel as though that is simply one of the most flat out stupid questions ever to be told except, of course, "who is OJ Simpson?" (family, you know who i speak of).
but in all seriousness, living, what else are you going to do? what else are you going to waste your time doing? wait, you have no time if you're dead, or simply not living, which i have no idea where you would be, so when is life ever not "worth-wild". no i'm not going to say "that's appalling" or "think of the people who don't have lives" (i'm pro-abortion so that seems unfitting) but just ponder where you'd be if you weren't living.... lemme tell ya, i'm sure you're a lot better here than in "hell" or "heaven" or simply rotting in the ground. life is OF COURSE worth-wild. every breath assists you, every movement helps you to get to where you want to go, and if you don't want to get anywhere then you're a vegetable, you're simply a vegetable.

Vacations for Your Feet

We walked and we walked
me, on grass,
she on the sidewalk.
the grass, true was itchy, but not all the time
and once you reach the freashly cut and tended to grass it's more of a vacation for your feet.
sure, i cam home with blisters, but, they were blisters that were earned.
isnt that what life is about

Oh the Joys of Life

The ocean isn't wide enough to express my fears
The river isn't clear enough to drown them either
where the rain won't conquer is where my resolution spawns
and what my eyes can't see is the clearing of the clouds
for i am stuck
i am stuck the sand that is currently swallowing my ankles and that feeling of hopelessness is growing inside, gergiling and growning to which even those outside me can hear its taunting noises. i fly threw it all, but when it really comes time to do it i fail. i fall right smack onto my face where only the Earth's orbit is moving; not me, not my importance, and not even my pail quaking hands that i once had to hold down by squeezing my legs together.
oh the joys of life.

Never Away

My eraser shows all that i wish it would erase. to trash the things that simply displease us is in fact the occupation of the eraser. but, here i am staring into its eyes and letting them stare back at mine. it carries the vagabonds and prostitutes that i wish to never enter my bar or my city; those i wish to never trespass again. but where is it going? no where. it sits there on my desk with some sort of a miniacle grin whispering "never away" like some sort of smudged cd or record that, of course, repeats itself over and over again in the most aggrevating part of the song. i gave it a wash and it still seems dirty, ever since that first tread onto the paper it never will sit there clean again; it will never regain its innocence. it doesn't want to. i wish i could throw them all away, and with them the trash that have stained them. but then the trash wouldn't really be gone it would just be away and continuously go away. just like the smell on my hands; beef on a grill with hickory chips burning below. when i smell it i think of the burger that was decorated with a toasted bun and red ketchup and green pickles; the view won't be as vivid but it will always be there when i smell it. soap can wash it away, but when i go to smell myself i know i will think of how it once was there and it will forever be in memory: never away.

habit

The time is now
we are at a crossraods, always
we drive through it not noticing our flat tire, or our cracked window, or perhaps a broken tail light

we don't stop, never
never to reimburse our tire, window or tail light
but we as humans have the tendancy to do just so,
but we have the power to stop our tendancies and break the habit,
or perhaps discover a new habit, of braking the tendancies