Unpublished Works

March 1, 2011

He once told me acid trips were like pie pans filled with milk and soap and dropping food coloring on to the surface and watching it struggle for a place to settle. I’m not sure if I agree, as I find that to be more like every day life… struggling to get my own grasp every minute of every day. Everything seems to be covered in a sheer layer of oil and I’m not here to wrestle for my place in this town. I won’t strip down to my skivvies and parade. If I see life like he sees acid trips, I wonder what life is like sober.

I witness crime on a daily basis. I’m surrounded by it constantly. We all are. Consciously or not. It’s always there. Waiting. Waiting for us to slip up maybe just once in order to get a foot in the door and corrupt the entire stairwell. Up the ladder to the roof, so we can see heaven much better.

I am frighteningly satisfied with where things are at the moment. That’s a lie.
I am satisfied with where things are going. That too is a lie.
I am constantly dissatisfied with how my life is and how it is progressing. Mindless job to mindless job. Creative burst to writers block. Grass is always greener. Always.

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