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It's the 13th today and I write a bit.
I have a lot of lies in my life and shit.
I give myself advice but I'm tired of it.
As soon as I start I just try to quit.

I think about the life and the universe.
I think about the truth and our ruse of dirt.
I think about my views and the views immerse.
And new views emerge, and these views converge.

The first quatrain was so perfectly symmetrical.
I didn't want to... further this outlet at all.
I feel I can't match the perfection, in that little section.
And look! This set appalls.

It's getting short now. Then it goes longer.
It's growing weaker. Then it grows STRONGER!
All in my life seems to arise in waves.
I lie, looking at lights in the shade.

Looking at the light from another side.
I see another time in my grave.
I'd rather not find time for other times.
I'd rather just keep with my play.

I'd rather play games and confuse myself.
So that I don't know why I'm really here.
I'd rather sit at home where I drew my shell.
Instead of facing any other fear.

Thoughts. That I think about.
They flood my mind, go up and down.
Thoughts. That I think about.
I blink my doubt, away.

You never say tonight: is a New one!
You just say Tomorrow's a new day.
You never say this year: was the Greatest!
You just say: the Next will be insane.

But I'm at my nexus of living now.
I don't want to fade or to simmer down.
I don't want to age and then linger round.
And yet I want to live until I'm clear.

Until I'm prepared, to leave my fair,
Until I've done my share of grieving, and thieving, and contriving these little jeers,
Until a time when I am wise enough to say I'm NOT wise without thinking even a little: Yes I am!
Reality is like a barren sand, a scary land, a jarred hand. Thoughts, I understand. Thoughts, are my demand.

Thoughts, are who I am.


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