Oh! how you feel alone, with the family, friends. With everyone really. The distance in the eyes, the experience. Misread emotions and there’s you, failing spectacularly again.
But then,
Go on, of your hatred. People, right?. Hanging-on to the littlest thing alike, tight, in desperation. You’d gladly live in the head. I know you would. At least it’s quiet at times.
;
Honey, I’m not a man. I’m barely a young boy. I was late to the party. Everyone knew this. You didn’t or may be didn’t care. Now a father, and a child. I want to blame you. See, that’s not something a man would do. Act of a child rather.
But then,
Of whatever I feel for that child, a light midway a long cold tunnel. And with all your quirks, I love you more if that’s possible. You, and you alone willed her to life.
;
Give up. Refuse to play in this park of amusement. You’ve worked hard, honed your skills. Only to auction, let’s face it, your youth. And you’d get screwed 9 to 5. Again, and again. F*ck the next iPhone. Psychedelics and music, Let’s go there. Please, again.
But then,
We are not alike. None of us are. But that’s us. We make sense when we can, with what we have. Hustle porn may actually help you. And I could be wrong. I usually am.