“The tragedy of life is not death but what we let die inside ourselves while we live.”
When people stare at me my mind goes empty, its as if they are looking through me as if I am nothing to exist.
Doors which entice me to enter
or it could just be a trap door seeking forgiveness for something I forgot or happened to you and knot too me.
War seems to coming from all sides with little intention of winning
But certainly my own personal problems are far more important
Don’t look, don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t here. Eye see you hiding something from you and I don’t no what it is, if I could tell then you would no.
Outside that promises things which it wants me to change or graciously accept in my empty wis(e)dom(e), it rules are so bad why do we have them and if they are good why is there so much evil in the world, ext stop could be Willoughby or maybe Wannabe.
One Sunday afternoon about 1975 in the empty lots of Jamaica Plain, that would make him about 55 years old today
The gate of know gate will not me out
Even when in a crowd with a purpose in mind, some still walk alone
and some walk together in their loneliness
And after all these years my sickness is still knot cured
And until that happens I am just a men ace loose among the normality where know one parks my driveway.
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