Paddle balled over to the great beyond.

Lost track of reality. I think that’s what it is.
Invariably the perfect time to leave.
I brush my teeth with the water running.

Everyday is one question.
something’s gonna happen.
If I have to die by this sword I’ll live by it.

Masterbation —
In the name of art.
Pretty much have nothing to say.
Without a cushion.
Middle finger.

A clean shaven aura.
Or each hair plucked until contented.
Roasted turkey.
Compulsory heed to a back seated view.

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