Don't be sorry. I'm not.

Apology accepted, though. Don't let me catch you doing it again, though. Whatever it was. What you said. Don't do that.

I don't like it when you do that. So stop it. Stop it.

I said stop. You better stop it right now. 

Or...wait.

We're cool, though. I'm cool. Just...

BTW....

That wasn't a poem, per se. Or not a poem, per se. That was a brain writey thingy thing-thing. That thingy thing thing I wrote about my inner littIe boy and stuff and stuff. That. That was a brain writey thingy thing-thing. Not a poem. I did it real fast WHILE masturbating to cuckold porn.

I made it special. 

In all seriousness everyone has to follow their own path. If you want to experiment with drugs and such I say more power to you, but the older I get the more I realize that for people like me who had no off switch they were a SYMPTOM of much LARGER

PERSONAL ISSUES.

And crack is DEFINITELY wack.

Don't get me started on meth.

Alcohol destroyed everything good in my life.

Weed is fine. Maybe later.

Psychedelics are great. 

Opiates are fucking evil. Just like alcohol.

Fuck you, End. lol. Don't get me started. I could write an essay on the matter and I wouldn't sound mad as the hatter these days 'cause I'm clean.

Seriously though.....stop it.

Stop fucking doing that.

I'm telling.

Drugs...

Drugs, drugs, drugs...

Spiritual awakenings...

Wake and bakenings... 

Fake friends and shaking fiends when not partaking...

What a shame a wasted mind slowly setting with the sun, and calamity itself is but a fragment of the fun.

The man who infested my mind is slowly dying over there in the corner of this room I invested all my time into designing.

Look at him. Gasping. 

Fucking child. Can't even swim.

Drowning.

In a pool of self pity and denial that I myself insisted was the truth.....

When all the while....

Wallowing. I wallowed. Swallowing. I swallowed.

When the lie was all I knew it was all that I could spew. And the lie inside was mine. I made it. It was a wonder to behold. The lull of life was dull and infinite. The whining, the droning of the other humans drove me mad. The lullaby. I sang it to myself. It was pristine and perfect. Short and sweet.

No one else could hear it. No one else was worthy to sleep the sleep I slept and dream the dreams I dreamt. To weep the way I wept. To keep the fears I kept. To creep the way I crept so stupid and inept. 

My incoherent rambling was the death cry of a little boy that still clung to life with a defying skyward gaze into the farthest outer space.

Death.

Disease.

Pain.

Wisdom.

And last but not least.....

nipples.

P.S. Kids, don't do drugs. (so you don't act like everyone else does)