Fractals of passed immaturities.

Explaining bullshit life philosophies.
A picture of me in a night I don’t remember,
black out drunk a few days before the fire extinguisher went off in my car.
A drunk Christian boldly sprays a bit onto the bar floor as he walks out. Not like the church ones, my friend one.
The red velvet ropes stayed in the apartment for months.
A gang of three or four of us come to this bar for the free food. We leave without buying drinks.
Like some shitty bums.
That’s the way I’ll remember it.
Broke and hungry. No cover, no problem.
The canister exploded, I rolled out my car into the dark street,
lungs filled with white chemicals.
I push the smoking vehicle down the road to the parking lot of my apartment.
I prayed for justice to pass over me that night
For police to stay the fuck away from that street and me.
For my car,
not to be discovered.
Ironic and semi-innocent criminal activity.
Another pointless night.
Lost in the flash book of my mind.
Pages torn from the record.
A hazely bit of a bar I went to several nights,
lazily wrapped in one night’s bit of experiences.
To be the me I see in old pictures.
To be anything, but now. Caught in these integrated moments of
out of control.
Losing the battle of memory to living forward.
Good times, blank times, my times.

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