death cures life/ambition with ammunition/retired cars

walden freeman

selling yourself short goes a long way. a notebook spirals out of control onto a desk; wood that never made it to notebook form. how can we relate to each other if we're bleeding so much? the transfusions by now must've made us relative to strangers young and old. jot this down: accept defeat at all costs, winning gets you no where. this distance between us is by far the shortest yet and yet i know that touching you is an impossibility because you've written it on the walls in heiroglyphics. tivo this ultrasound, we'll catch our futures later. by then we won't be interested anymore and anyway there's more important things in the news: shootings, twelve-car pile-ups, genocides, and bake sales. oh, it doesn't get much sweeter!