Breathing is all A matter of Pressure.

When someone tells you grades and numbers and assessments mean nil,

in the long run, they're actually

lying to you.

Because,

really?

They matter. They matter,

a lot.

Life is secretly a long line of people all waiting to pass judgement on you, looking to see if

you're 

GOOD ENOUGH.

So you have to have your credentials ready, 

you have to be GOOD ENOUGH.

Good enough for them to look at you.

Good enough for them to want

you.

Bosses, teachers, friends, colleagues, bankers, lovers, investors, the government, your parents.

Everyone.

Wants to know.

If.

You,

(yes, YOU)

are good enough.

Good enough for them.

Good enough for their money.

Good enough for their

TIME.

Because if you're not

worth it, that is.

If you're not GOOD ENOUGH, that is.

They don't want you.

And

time is short.

So,

they want your numbers.

Because,

numbers are fast.

Numbers are

GOOD ENOUGH, for them.

For them to know you

For them

to know

if

YOU are good enough.

City Song.

she'll spit the streets beneath my feet

traveling me

taking me on

a journey.

maybe if i look hard enough

i'll see her shadow on

the skyline

bright neon, like a beacon

like a calling

like a fresh breath to 

a choking soul.

she'll envelop me 

take my hand

she'll lead me into her

heart

the pumping and thumping

blare of car horns.

the flashing neon lights

beaconing 

me

her

calling

pulling away the streets

leave me

chasing after

her.

Funnel cakes, in the end, are not funnel shaped at all... Which might be mind-blowing, for someone who wasn't expecting that... 

They're actually kind of squiggly, wormy looking... 

Nonsensical, we call it. 

Not quite funnel shaped

Then why call it funnel cake?

I really don't know.

However, the real question is: Is 'shaped' one syllable or two?

untitled.

the first time around

isn't nearly as exciting 

as the second

when you know what to expect

and when.

laughing disarmingly

at the not funny

parts. its only natural.

maybe the sadism

will kick in.

kicking and screaming

like an ant

covered in napalm

or was it pesticide?

and curiosity

never got you anywhere

but trouble. so

they tell me.

Cigar.

its something in the smell of

cigarettes, when your sinuses are dry.

they smell of comfort and a remembrance

of death.

the quiet orange light

in the dark

can be a comfort,

you know they're still

breathing.