I Already Wrote That
A Retrospective of the past, present and future of my time writing here, as a collective.
All I’ve ever wanted from life is to let my death be at least semi poetic instead of senseless and pathetic.
That I go out fighting to the death, to the point the scene that’s left behind are traumatizing images too grotesque to ever truly leave the memory of the unfortunate medic whoever Sent to fetch my body, after I’ve already been dead far too long for anyone to interject or intercept it. Foul play is obvious,not just heavily suspected.
To the point my enemies all but confess, but happily accept the credit. Some may mourn,others may suggest it was to be expected.
May no friend or loved one of mine carry on a vendetta, that ends in defeat or more death or life sentences of honorable men than anyone ever meant for it to or expected. Let it be a debt that never gets collected, until karma or the universe let’s it.
Hey, maybe I deserved it, my life was less than perfect, and so was my character at different stages and ages, right along with my credit.
Just know if I ever looked you dead in the face while we were both still truly alive, and said I love you, you can bet I meant it. And not just for as long as you’re able to remember the name of the dirty dive bar where I eventually intentionally first said it. But for that day, and every single one that managed to come after it, it may have faded over time but bet it never fully left, part of me will never let it. If I ever said it, in some way or another I definitely meant it, even if you never fully found a way to truly accept it, whether it was a blessing, existential threat or hexed.
The last thing you want during times of unavoidable warfare is a man or woman who only fights fair wars, not for the hope of peace, but more because they’re scared.
How did a country with so many kinds of riches come up short, how were we possibly caught that off guard and Ill prepared?
That’s not a rhetorical question, if someone has an in depth answer, please be sure to share, for the short list of pissed off lonely kids, who more than care, to the point they’ll leave whoever’s deemed responsible by the courts, short of a spouse, kid, or just water and air.
Torturous stares is how the tortoise repeatedly but yet strategically beat the glorious hare. When you have more to lose, winning isn’t something you choose, it’s a sport you either master or you don’t last, it’ll sentence you to the bench for the rest of your underperforming career.
So be careful in your travels and keep your head out of both the dirt and clouds. The government has sworn to sacrifice my first born, if I share these words publicly or sorta just report em out loud.
Whatever, I’m here to party with the poor and the proud, as well as hopefully score us a pound we can smoke while this bloke behind the bar pours us poison to enjoy by the round, as we drowned the noise out, so we can perform like we’re normal in front of this formal crowd.
What I’m saying is there’s nothing you could possibly share I haven’t already said. I’ve been here since the last Kennedy ended up dead and trump let those uneducated degenerates mess with his head, and then he won the election everyone said he couldn’t have led.
