~gez~ am i wasting my time or will it last forever 020823
whitechocolatewalrus wasting all that is useful
maybe one day
there will be nothing left
Death of a Rose is flowers left and naught.

let me tell you of wasting, if you will listen.

wasting is unrecognized moments that you suddenly in your greying time, realize that, yes 'i do regret specific instances of this life'.

how i wish that time was malleable, but at the same time, wish that the blue veins were here to stay. tokens of the subway ride, but in indefinite passages; groggily submitting to etched and forgotten slumberances. i wake with sweat each day, quickly forgetting the nightmares, pushing them to the background of my own delusions. they are there, they are with me with every hated step. i'm pouring out now, submersing myself with no periscope, jarring retribution and drowning/suffocating air i breath,


what a word,

what a word.
whitechocolatewalrus that which we who're alive in spite of mirrors
(have died beyond the clock)we,of ourselves

who more a part are(less who are aware)

than of my books could even be your shelves
(that which we die for;not when or unless
if or to prove,imperfectly or since

but through spontaneous deft strictly horrors

which stars may not observe;while roses wince)
that which we die for lives(may never cease
views with smooth viligant perpetual eyes
each exact victim,how he does not stir)

O love,my love!soul clings and heart conceives

and mind leaps(and that which we die for
lives as wholly as that which we live for dies)

e.e. cummings
almost doesnt count once said.

it cannot be undone.

or did he?
z unslap 050421
scott mac. wasting time, wasting space, a broken window a blood shot face... 070117
what's it to you?
who go