8.22.2002

Growbag...

Rats rotting on the streets of Bethesda
Guts hurting with desires
Mood as ill as night in winter
As I hurl face-first into a sort of madness
Unknown

Alternating like current between
Not caring and caring too much
We bet our reputations on
Our integrity and merit
Or so we are led to aspire

The risks taken include
The possibility of relationships
Exploding like land mines
Crippling and killing indiscriminately
Que sera

Just when I began to settle into this place
I discover no rugs – or even floors below
Just empty spaces to hover in
Dead and alone again
Desperate from necessity