The infinite flowering of new hues

Tai Chi style moves in the morning thinking of you sucking on the bottom of my filthy foot and remembering that just because I think it doesn’t mean I have to do anything at all in order to have it because having it really is only going to be a bigger disappointment than my imagination crafting daisy chains of actual daisies dipped in gold and actually chained around your stupid neck cutting off all oxygen and tossing your wriggling body off the side of a moving speed boat into the sea which is just another thing that I can see and feel and can’t control.
And I regret some things sure but not for very long, not for long, meditating on absolutely nothing is so much harder, so very hard when nothing would make me happier than some of the things I’ve regretted before and again now because I don’t genuinely know who I am or what I am capable of, I’m just making it up based off of the chemicals I react to and the instructions deep into the recesses of my very creative mind that can’t come up with anything more interesting to do with you than to love you to death or deny you that very same love for what some might call fun. But every time I don’t move toward or away from you I sprout and even though thoughts bubble up, choking your ass to sleep would never be enough when I can’t do a downward dog yoga pose without fogging my fucking glasses up.

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