Reading zen's journal

Shoot high, aim low

it's this loathing, fills my soul
a longing
to be hideous
to be...
well,
better left
unsaid

Tonight
writing remnains blank
my thoughts, heart
dark
a sun so hot
on an endless highway
a soul so dark
on this endless
highway

this morning
writing evaporates

love will find a way
if I let it
and I'm just
not
feelin it.

Tonight
writing remains hate
I conjur that demon

Holy Emissary
of "Dobbs"
This mourning
writing spews forth spilth
detritus
dreck from my hands,
my pen
my cursor

Tonight
still
loves knows nothing
of that deepest part of me
so black and deep
I cant even fathom

Tonight this pen is blinded
to my own deep, darkness
a hate and vitriolic
so deep and profound and tangible
I can't even stand to fester upon it

A self-loathing and deprication
so sweetly palatable,
it begs all measure to stop it naugh
let it seep into my pours,
call it forth as a fource,
same as the sylphs,
or Dobbs Himself.

Once Fred Neitszche declared God is Dead, f*ck became the most important word in the English languag