Gossip grill

So what makes a bigger fool, love or pride?

Intuition makes her heart much harder than usual. Her senses are magnified, what if she were right all 
along? She didn't want to be. Looking back on easier days, she'd never have to worry
about someones whereabouts, because she simply didn't care. "Nice guys finish last", or maybe the
assholes did, but they didn't care so it was hardly noticed...moments of rejection seemed foreign
because there was always another option waiting for the call, always waiting to obtain the unattainable,
who was never really unattainable, just cautious...full of pride, knowing that love was for fools.

She was tempted to take a drag of a cigarette. Wanted to calm her nerves before she walked in the building.
Her lover, her cause for plight was currently M.I.A. Not missing in action but making it arduous 
to figure out her motives. Why was she there? Her previous route would be to find a replacement, but she
knew that doing that would only fulfill a temporary gratification, her mind would still be clouded with
questions, heart still filled with mourning. She didn't know what she was trying to figure out, or
why she was trying to hold on... but she was, and it was exhausting her.
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I am smoking

Smoking

I am smoking past myself
Hoping that I outlast the path of my past
Smoking the last
Dream I’ve had
And watching it burn away;
It’s going away-
Not
Becoming what
I’ve tried speaking into existence
I’m walking hopelessly away from a distance
Reality shows no mercy when you don’t
Take advantage of your second chance
Second-hand
Smoke leads you into a cloud
Cloudy judgment
Leaving you asking
Where’s my passion?
Doubts, have to run past them
Until they disappear, into the smoke
Regain hope,
Until it all clears away.

For Real,

I am not real.
I am just really inexplicable.
Really human,
really.
I am not real.
Real is relative,
irrelevant,
unimaginative.
When really,
I’m just trying
to make it
in the real world,
and the expectations
aren’t reality..
But really,
what can I expect
in a place where
the real me
is created by
the perception
of someone else’s
reality?
So, no. I am not real.
I am just really,
another stain
on this planet,
and no. I didn’t plan it.
really.
-honest.

The Revolution

The Revolution:

Patience is like the revolution
Her colors may not luster
but she is not diverted
By the obstacles created by lifes
debacle.
She is the demiurge,
Initiator of this world we call patience,
which is in the beyond bounds
of possibility
Making rocks with
what starts as water drops
Proven what is impatiently
grazed by those of lesser compassion
Creates the essence of her sustainability

time: 7:44 pm

I cried this time;
Because
The fight was real this time
The end feels real this time
Can’t help but wonder how we lasted all this time
But no sense in trying to recount time
Because we can’t bring back time.

Worst part of it all
Is we’ve spent a days time
Ending months of a relationship built and refined through time
Over a pastime that matters less than the 9..8..7
Experiences before you and I became you and I…

I’ve lost, failed and all.
You. Myself.
Is it too late this time?
I don’t know…