Why do I have nothing to say?
O my divinity, I'm brilliant!
But unclear as to why I am so stupid.
When will you succumb and grow weary of the cosmic wallpaper, leave the gold needles behind and rest in grey grass beneath a tree of bewildered blue leaves?
The deafening sounds of words fading into buzzes. The plastic, repetative ticks of a machine are progessively replaced with nothing.
Nothing progresses into nothing further.
Was this the correct route?
Well known, the less travelled cloud is often the most wicked, yet least useful
There is no more important thing in this world than an orgasm.
Words can be smoked and should be.
