Late! Late! Late! to the debate what a sin I cant argue I cant chip in no one will hear my opinion what about my two cents is it not important to you I think I need it too. I need to be late will it show you that it doesn’t matter or will you take it as that I don’t care. Look as that turtle jogs across the line the hare has been round the track a hundred and ten times already. Not even breaking sweat and definitely breathing steady. Yeah I think I need it too.
Space! Space! Space! This is the spot I a meant to sign my name. this is the place I am meant to sign my will my life is in your hands the money the health the stealth of baggage will unfold in time I didn’t even try to conceal it because I knew you would patronize contradict inflict issue and pain onto my mind I don’t want to have to worry about what you will do with my body once you have killed me. I will know what you are doing now. You will not be ale to avoid my problem, issues debacles.
Youth! Youth! Youth!
Spine! Spine! Spine! The youth is learning, the youth is getting stronger, can it be that I am old and immature. Well for sure, the soles of my feet weathered from chasing the briefcase from the race against my peers, the spine I have is breaking the nerves splitting the cause is not failing just the rules and obscenities are raining down on ear drums that have been beaten like the kettle drums. Stomp! don’t drop the baton this relay race cannot falter the debate is to carry on whether I am there or not, how heroic, go on without me.
Collar! Collar! Collar! The stellar performances we all unappreciatively put into the fight for life, well we are already living. What will the fight amount to. Death? What can this debate prove that we are humans and not alone in this universe. The next verse in the pause of the second that it took the speed of sound that blew up the light into fractions that I could see. The debate intertwines them like a mystery of answers that cannot be questioned. Will we ever get it. What is it. Where is the time going into notorious inflammatory liquids that burn along with the fires we subside under.
Mean! Mean! Mean! what did that garbage have that I don’t and why did it get recycled instead of this computer chip that has the written word of a sauce in wine and ciabatta bread that crunches onto our skulls and clamps our cars wheels with unforgiving clinging like the girl that you once knew and had to leave. Well what did any of that mean. the bread is his and the wine is mine. Gotts drink to drive myself into the ground six feet under is more important than six feet into the distance away from you. The debate is debating whether I should be nicer to you or not. What a tough question on myself. What an unfortuitous reply from an all knowing cell I might hear
Silence! Silence! Silence!
