Bukowski Blues

Can I ever reach you like that? A kick in the face, a punch to the gut, a love like an arrow through the heart? Can I ever be your dreams, my darling, as I desire, as it sometimes seems? Show me the world outside the windows, show me the ticking of my insides, how they follow the music, how they follow you and sing in tune, and then out of sync, carving their own way.

I want to get down to something profound and show it off. I think those who aren't so well off should be considered all the time. I reckon we should not underestimate the effect of wars and not fail to see how many have been lost to this cause. Growth, branches, trying to follow them all as they spread from the ground, from the roots, from the trunk, from the trees around. I lose my way, it tastes so good though, almost pushing me to get lost, over and over.

Today was sweet at turns. I owe myself great contemplation, to succeed at hard tasks, to correctly step forwards and know I limited the pain of others. I read about the sex and drugs and futility of some people's lives and I feel enormous hope swell inside of me for my own existence and the people most special to me. I ramble, I digress, I lose myself once more, but it almost feels like the best direction to take, the directionless one. It leads me away from the manipulated hand. It satisfies my innocent and natural curiosity for the world, for my own world. I don't even know what I talk about and I know I have never made more sense.