Giving a standing ovation at the next funeral I’m at

IM HAVING DAY DREAMSSSS ABOUT NIGHT THINGS IN THE MIDDLLLEEEE OF THE AFTERNOOONNNNN

LOVE IS BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me trapped inside the evil villains lair: what did I do to you?

Villain: nothing, this is a hostage situation.

Me: so, there was no reason? I wasn’t good looking? I wasn’t easy to kidnap? I wasn’t smart? Or I wasn’t stupid?

Villain: you’re a horse.

No thoughts, head empty

Me at the strip club putting a five in the g string; so what do you do for a living?!?!!!

Me being loading into the glue factory truck: Excuse me, but, was I a good pony? Was I kind hearted, loved? Purely? For things other than my jumps, and speed? Natural talents through my need to survive. But, what can I do now. My fate is determined by things who think they are greater than the earth. What will I think of, you ask, dear chick? Well they put me out of my misery? Was I a good pony? Was I loved? Was I who I wanted to be in my own mind? Was I was who my mother wanted me to be? Was I what I was truly meant to be? A race horse? A show horse? A Poet? A Pony?

How it feels being repulsive and boring and all seeing and fucked up and perfect and cloud like and horse like and pure and god and mom did you ever really love me for who I was and how should the earth know I was here in a thousand years and who I am to pray to god and who are you

Death sits beside you in a sunny field. They ask you how your days been.

“Well, I guess I can’t complain, especially now.” You reply.

“Maybe, but as they say, ‘there’s always room for complaints.” Death, is a teenage girl. Their beautiful. Their eyes are purely white, the colour of bone.Their whole existence is. They’re only shown, their light constrained by the classic black cape and hood.

“No, not now.” You say.

“People have so many complains in life, but when I came to visit, they act like it’s a huge secret.” Death responds to your resort.

“Well, what would you like to me say? I wasn’t loved enough? I loved too much? I wasn’t caring enough? I was too caring? I was hurtful? I wasn’t hurtful enough? I was cruel? I wasn’t cruel enough?” You ask.

“How’s your day been?” They ask, standing up to practice the swinging of the scythe.

“It’s been nice, the weather was good. I saw one of my good friends. Me and my mother had dinner together.” You respond

“I hate lying more than I hate secret keeping.” Death tells.

“I know.” You respond.

“I don’t want to talk, anymore. Could I just see the sunset, one last time?” You plead, your begging.

“Of course, but why?” Death ask, curious.

“Why not?” You shrug.

“Now’s not the time to be asking, ‘why not’, most people ask, ‘why? Why death, won’t you let me see the sunset one last time?!” Death prompts, sitting back down beside you on the linen hammock.

“Most people do?”You ponder.

“Most people want it to be over with.” They respond.

“What is life, without the natural struggle of it?” You tell.

“I don’t wanna talk.”

What is poetry?

I’m leaning on the edge of an empty stage

Hello? There’s no one here to tell me. I’m standing, in the middle of the official office, and there’s not a soul here. I’m one of no one left alive.

I guess I’m really only asking myself this.

Is this how it all started? Evolution? The bible? War? Religion? Gods? Peace? Taxes? Laws? The theory of evolution?

I’m asking myself a question, and because I assume I’m the only one left alive, I make these things up myself.

Which, if there were other people here would be impressive.

But it’s not is it? Narcissus thought he was alone at the pond, and a god was watching him.

Did he know that? Was he looking into his own eyes to try and clear their reflection?

What is poetry? What I’m doing now, deciding what all of this is, what all was, what it will be? Who am I asking?

A god, I’m not sure is there. If this is the end, I won’t be saved.

You guys have no idea what I post when your not active