im flaccid
i try to share my emotional state
try to find the words that can describe my predicament
what i get into my .txt is redundancy not deliverance
nothing protrudes
i try to hone the gibberish i write about women, sex, myself, you and the disgusting things we did
but theses words are not mine
they are stolen, half-hearted and forlorn
should i reproach myself for all the nights filled with eclectic jazz of negroe youth
mixed with chemical imbalances and shiny crystals
i only wanted to smell the roses for a while
to coin a phrase here
all theses commodities and factotums
that heady fake affluence
left me agitated
but dumb
there will be no paramount idea or intelligence born from this
i allay myself that i can go back to my purer sublimity
tread lightly
try finely
but i see no change
have i lost my wit
to a blank page
what am i becoming
what i am
is useless
