Days pass to nights from nights come new days all the while all the time always growing always age.
Bodies die they decay disappear as souls go stray.
Stomach turning hunger lots foods not cheap what have you got.
Always trying always stressed always striving feel my chest.
It don’t stop beating never does nor do the words that speak to us.
What to say what to hear what to know what to fear.
Days are numbered are they not what good does earth do if it will rot.
Or to roam and fuck a lot find a girl pick a spot make her laugh make her grin get her hot then enter in.
Oops I said that woops I did, well oh well my mood is grim I’m so tired of working hard five hours passed like blah blah blah.
Edit now edit later unless it’s published fuck this paper.
What to say what to do what to think always new never stops my mind it doesn’t, ideas appear like fire coming.
Yada-yada, doodle doo, what’s my structure? It’s this, ‘Fuck you.’
No not the reader apologies I’m speaking of the thought police those who say that there are rules for they’re all wrong I’ll prove it to you.
Find an art of any kind show me rules I’ll show you mine – All that matters for how art goes it what does happen when beings suppose to feel a thing a thought or two, to be projected the thoughts of you.
Oh my goodness don’t you see tell me please it’s not just me, there are no rules no none at all the only thing is reader’s call for what you read if it don’t speak to the one who’s listening you’ve failed a lot you’ve failed it all for all that art is is your heart shown.
– Thomas M. Watt