Go fuck all your lovers, who knows how much time you have left.  The fuel light is lit.  50 miles to go, give or take?  The trip reads 426, and that’s when I get anxious.  That’s when Wednesday really stinks into my skin.  One of these days you’ll hit igneous bottom like a holy organic musical sex toy. Â
You’ll take everyone down with you, sink softly into the ocean’s abyss wiping pubic hair from your lips.  The wide eyed orgasmic faces will flash before your eyes,Â
this is just vanity, a Player’s Game of wills and deceit.  Amateurs and klutz prone dog tails will sit in the corners looking for that deep and dark conversation to free them from their civic duty.  Â