Self-amused so self-amused so self-amusing waiting. Deciphering a glass completely full of beer as a pessimistic situation. If I could transform this into water I would, but what else is an antichrist to do? Sit and wait so cute and adorable? So sacrilegious, but so sweet too. Bought as a bar stool’s user’s fee: alcohol’s a tired drug. But fine for sipping slowly sipping while rested others mindfully tug.
Self-amusing self-amusing so self-amused and weighted. Recombining strings of thought into one just one persuasion. Placing each piece part by part to form a many-sided section. This continually combined force-expansion is a compulsively-contrived self-embarked planless misadventure in perspective. Writing what’s unwritten as it’s revised by hapless happenstance: growing expectations form a shrinking image based on the fruitful failures of the past.
Self-amused and self-amusing so self so self so self-contained. Internal thoughts are internal combustion as a nullified hindrance watches mutually stoic wood grains. Time and time and timeliness: no punishment in consequence of no committed crime. Nothing moves save for all that’s moving, and everything is falling asynchronously in line.
Nothing moves but it’s all moving: self-righteous self-controlling cogs aid the plan of one machine. Alive alive alive and breathing: everything appears exactly as it seems. Just some added complication, just some muffled background noise, just myself sitting with my own delusion on an island of misfitting toys.
This is my play. This is my play. Just another dull part of a doldrum day, and then a blip jumps from the white of static and I turn to analyze its lurid noise. His arrival grazes barely touching with the self-puppetry of a hope so self-reprieving. So I’ll take control and pull some willing strings, until relieved I’ll watch them slacken. My role here tonight is of a quitter who didn’t want to win, who’d wish a well-meaning goodnight to anyelse before the inevitable sunset.