Another turn...

Another turn to make a u-turn at a road that was a path that used to be less traveled has become my undoing. It's a path I've walked and ran, and sat and cried on that now has gum stains and rubber tracks. I've disappeared into a forest to make friends with nature, only to discover that Smokey isn't a bear, but a very large beaver with an abnormal tail. I'm searching for answers in a library filled with picture books when I'm color blind. The weirdness of the randomness that has happened in the sphere of awkward permeates through my hair follicles to my brain, only to distort the world around me. Beer goggles makes night vision sleepy. I can't function with the railroad spike in my chest, but I seem to be running wild with the swarm of bees in my skull. It's a funny thing that laughter happens when my nose hairs tickle, but breathing doesn't do it. I've mixed the chemicals wrong only to protect the concoction of a virus that has spread from my finger tips to my ears and back down my spine. Ah, what a glorious day it was when it might have happened the other day months ago, but the time king spit on me and broke the mirror and pissed on the greener grass. Damn you, you fool! I was going to mow it down and plant daisies there anyways, but my lawn mower broke and I can't find the right parts to get it going. Doesn't matter anyways, the neighbor moved and took all the dirt. So I'll just cover it up with duct tape, cement glue, plaster, clay, play-doh, silly putty, wood glue, elmer's glue, gorilla tape, scotch tape, sand, cement, construction paper, and then drop a giant metal door with a super lock combo so nobody can get to it. Because that was MY planter and nobody can't plant anything there anymore. But I'm not pouting. Nope, that would be stupid for me to pout for something that disappeared and wasn't mine to begin with. Nope. I'm making a claim of my personal fortune and future empire and standing on my mountain looking down on all the happy people as I stand there in the wind, like Peter Pan. Just... breathing. Admiring in jealousy and envy. I will never have everything that I can't have in the world of perfection because it's been shattered by the very rock that I tried to skip on the surface when I was a kid. Ah, my inner child just got lost in the mall and I'm debating if I want to find him or leave him for adoption. There's a strong possibility that his undying romantized hopefulness will one day disembark for eternity, where I would be stuck with an old man pretending that he didn't crap his pants because he doesn't want to be old. What a weird story to dictate to the nonexistent children that never spawned because I was too stubborn to acknowledge the rightfulness of my ways. Ah, to live and die in a realm of absolute ridiculously wired knots. I hate the love that burns my chest. Get me a glass of water, maybe that will calm the stitches. Good times indeed.