Гробокоп: другие произведения.

the train of thought

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  i say trains locomotion heavy machinery loaded battery sunsets sunrises sunshine sunglow sunspill sunsleep sunhollows i say having an addictive personality combined with 3 elephants known by the names of hyperactivity distractibility impulsivity is really inconvenient in current circumstances where i'm supposed to mind my business and tend to my devices instead of pursuing that absolute nothingness pitch blackness i find myself lost in every time i allow this collision initiate this collision and the ability to do so only serves the escalation overtime. freedom of choice can be massive leverage when offered to rape victims and he seems to know it well enough to weaponize. you can kick it into the deepest darkest corners of your mind and not even consider it for some time, a few months at best, but at some point you inevitably find yourself back at square one with the same exact choice that any other addiction offers which is either you go back to minding your routine and try not to ever look in that direction again or you can step into the outer nowhere and float there thoughtless weightless like a sunbeam at dawn meaningless and complete out of time in the outer space in eternity bottomless seamless painless
  
  there's peace to be found in chewing away stringy chunks of your flesh
  
  comfort in the coppery zest of your blood
  
  that abyss is counterintuitive if you jump right into it and successfully land on the other side every time
  
  i've always had trouble with distinguishing the algorithm they follow when they choose whether to appear in a particular way or to really represent that way so yeah the rumors circling around the gang under the bridge about how harsh their uncalled boss is and how bloodthirsty are due to that
  
  some of 'em still seek for reflection in my primitive ways although primitive ways are what they are there's not much to figure out
  
  surprise attack in a ruined church not far away from the railroad
  
  the railroad flowing into the underground through gateways and canal locks like veins valves arteries endless heartbeat of engines pulses of wheels against rails the omnipresent hum of electricity
  
  i get distracted by everything from everything my attention like butter slowly melting on a warming pan gently slipping sliding away it's as unbearable as the headache as the difference in sight sharpness between two eyes so you're constantly forced to check yourself like a rat does turning its head left and right at an object it's facing & the everpresent possibility of a fit like a brick in your skull so yeah it's easy to see the reason behind an addictive personality
  
  it's just a feature one of many / as i flip out my pet pocket butterfly / razor-sharp and eager
  
  the omnipresent railroad curls around the city like a python on a monkey ever-squeezing its guts out mouth open wide and welcoming into the abyss you come from
  
  bet a brick wouldn't fit in my skull like your dick doesn't hahahahaha haha ha and i'm on the verge of committing the same mistake even though the type of rake is slightly different and not even so slightly if we're frank but completely you just both find the idea of your similarities way too charming not to deceive each other into acknowledging them even though they're not as defining as you'd like to think
  
  the train always goes nowhere it's a large mechanical fish of a train with a cabin and a seat for every scale covered with pearl for camouflage endlessly moaning its way through the night circling around and around the railroad bothers me and has been since i discovered the tracks in the forest back as a kid those were desolated and overgrown with underbrush daisies poppies and dandelions
  
  back when i used to think that if there was one month i'd get to choose to last for a whole year it would be may cos there's no time sexier than may when everything is just so new green and juicy it's spilling over the edge asking to be reproduced and destroyed now i would probably choose january cos there's nothing going on in that black and white scenery thereby converting the world into the direct continuation of eternal ice that has always been there melting ever so slightly
  
  i'd love to proclaim that eternal ice is my middle name but it seems there are still some parts left moving aside from that good old engine always revving in annoyance ready to go full speed in rage
  
  they don't like the idea of gay pirates well who would even i disapprove lol xd
  
  i told the boy i recalled his golden hair shining in the sun and his fervent faith clumsily submerged in nihilism as if in a rushed attempt to cover it like a fresh corpse under a pile of leaves and he figured out i was talking about him that one is quite a clever boy i'll give him that but still not enough to make me wish for caution
  
  i don't recall anyone making me wish for caution though even the jagged-teeth jaguar-eyes in the darkest corner of my racing mind
  
  the train is going nowhere
  
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