the turn of me merry-go-round makes me spin inside outside.

countless times i rant, two times i listened
and watched, or even try: i've never seen people
die. only some who act like they never felt alive.
some happy yet torn inside. a few, silence encourages
them to survive. Several angry, blinded by riches
they have. One covered with tar to preserve their time.

Take these shallots, times
them by thousand and twenty nine.
As i float up into the horizon, i match these dots
and watch their lines. Every dot joined with
another speck. Fighting with their own, they
tear and rot and dimish. Oxygen they take,
blackness they exhale. In the midst, i search
and i found a small growing shadow.

"FuckFuckFuck Fuck You.
Fuck you child. FUCK, YOU."

My shell fights its yolk. The
whites, spin as the black yolk reels
the stomach and the livers churn.
Fight warriors! fight that losing battle.
salvation suddenly seems small, as cycles
grip its tight grip around. Listen to this
repeated word, two times two times twenty three.

I take much height and watch that
beam shine. i question the sun.
the cold comforts surge within.
but its style, never mine. It waits.
waiting...waiting..waiting..
until that person steps onto its
ground and then, falls into its den.
some are frightened. so they watch and scream.
then exclaim quietly about their angsty experience.
The pitiful 'brave' fall.
Falling, falling, falling. like a
rebirth of a child in a womb, but in
this an opposite. the surrounding red light
and the opening, black.

maybe thats how he was born.
not two times two not twenty three.
not thousand eight not thirty nine.
just Once.