themarshals' Journal

there is no fresh air.
it has all been broken down, spat out.
anything that would have been good for you in
the recycled air youre breathing is long gone
robbed by another neurotic, night-sweating shell of a man.
what makes you differents then billions of warm blooded parasites that have walked the same grounds you do?
your fucking hairstyle? your Target slacks and your two-weeks-pay sunglasses?
what sets you apart is why you step on the same cracks, follow the same paths
e v e r y f u c k i n g d a y.
why
why you crack the same gilded smile at the same unwelcome people every morning
maybe youre supporting a family. three boys who want to be quarterbacks and secret agents. dont stress on it. ironically, youre right. it is a fucking phase. their innocence, their originality, their wonder for the simple joy of living will fade away the longer they breathe the same carbon dioxide you and your self-loathing cronies have been for years and years that we call air.
AIR

maybe by some freak chance you'll be blindsided with a cataclysmic idea, a burst of unparalelled inspiration like this one. only to dismiss it for fear of being crazy. paranoid. witchcraft. theyll burn you at the stake you deranged motherfucker
THEY WILL BURN YOU AT THE STAKE.

Advertisement