the odds were not to sink of swim

because that ain't man-shit,

it's paddle or drown into the history of other failures

so moody

these blues

or maybe vibrant reds that inspire

and push the boundaries in a meta-physical fake uncaring

and loving way

as if boundaries existed and one knew how to push them further.

hint, you don't know,

they don't exist,

and I meant that,

THEY DON'T EXIST,

not where it counts – in your head,

that's where the magics happens and the slight of hand

revealing poems constructed in a minute

consuuming life energy

red bull on your soul

leave you tired, depleted, pretending to be broken

you just need a day off – lucid- well the lottery won't give it

the machine needs you.

What machine?

You communist fucker,

christianity as a scape-goat,

like bashing it makes you relevant and makes history nicer

and between the lines

but it isn't.

History is not between the lines here

or anywhere else,

and it made no sense to attack ghosts as if it meant

you had a right hook worth anything

you don't

you paper tiger

I hope you go play with matches.