That's what it is.
A marathon, long-haul flight across these stupid precipices
of ambition and frustration
hanging
Like a boat from a rope
then a noose; you become one.
The reality of sentiments evades me
I keep on dangling
spine by spine, disk by disk snapping
tut/crack/tut
bending over I look at my feet
last sight of myself
lost sight of myself
Are they shod?
Are they pink?
Toenails
Lost sight of the big picture
Too many years. The me has shifted to a she
but he more strongly is a you
and your trick your prick your dictation
of the situation
dominates tramples on a carpet
objectified. and DISenchanted.
It'll make you fly. I promise.
Aladdin.
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