I am conflicted, constricted

Ostracized for my addictions…

‘A married muse— very nice.”

It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day, but there was work to be done, and things approaching, things moving as they squally did around me, but today with more relax—I had taken a my first day off from the gym in weeks, and was feeling rejuvenated, but ready to hit the pavement

—my new workout equipment on its way, as not to say, there were other things I had been focused on working out, internal and otherwise—and I found it almost curious to continue to ponder on what one much sort of think as taboo, but for some reason, wasn't, I was safeguarded. For the first time in years, my muse, not chosen, however more bestowed upon me, was a married man—which meant, my falling in love with him was baseless, if unremarkably atoned, and temporary as it should have been, and yet, all the more plentiful. I still had added to my portfolio as I had with my other men in forms of songs, further words, and poems, though bemused as I was and finding it all the more appalling— it was all for the sake of the art, I needed none more than the facts I had been faced with—the fame— the soul that danced inside a handsome body, and of course— the thing it was that called to my own, a God in a sense of sorts, for in the years that had come I had learned from my love, I could draw infinite art—though what with it to do, I knew not.

Finally, it didn't matter— there was no chance in the world of the love to be born in the physical world, and for that I was safe and protected— to dream, and to fantasize at will, and unlike some others, I knew myself never to harm or wish to harm one other's well being— I would not dare to be such that marriage didn't matter; I was, in my heart and somewhere in my seeking soul, a good woman. Or at least—good enough to know better, and for now, no better was good, than to write, and to dream, sifting songs and sonnets in my oil soul as it was, a lover's fantasy; and a fantastical one at best.

To new adventures, with a younger man.

Much younger than I, however older than once thought, it was almost an honor had struck, another magician, and master of art.

Take it slow take it all in

On a long walk

Smell the roses,

Don't slip,

Don't choke

Don't talk about it

Hide your love

Piss them all off

Walk the dog

Slit your wrists

When the whole world

Is all him,

The man who hit you

And the justice system

Trusts him

And his light skin

The right color

In the trump era

Now that's a Cold War

son's coming up,

Time to run

411

The 555

Is done for

A parked car

With no gasoline at all

Just remember

I control the gangstalkers

The dumb blondes

The hot Caucasians

The dog walkers

And the ones wearing stars

For the counter curse

Here's a curve ball

Serve your punishment

For wanting it

What was it before?

Love

What is it now?

God

Mirrors at an angle

Can't see myself

So I'm finally invisible

Is it Psy or Sai

I'm depressed because I don't know how to publish anything and I can't stop writing;

I don't know what to do with anything I've written,

And I'm always,

Constantly stressed about money

The things I need,

And feel I should be working

As if I haven't written more than what some writers with notoriety and fame have or had written in their lifetimes

And now, to think, the fame and notoriety seem so small to me;

I really just want the money and to be able to go away

To some place quiet and peaceful,

And to hold my son again.

Shout out to the bass pod

That's probably why my minds gone

Shout out to the old God

Your lady is a robot

I am the programmer

Might need a controller

Take it all apart

Put it back together

I ain't in the ghetto

Certified, it's gentrified

Ah, dag.

What.

I missed the helipads

AH DAG?! We're about to die, and all you can say is “ AH DAG”

THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE.

SHHH.

Sorry.

Unh.OUCH.

Sorry.

Well, I'm fresh out of [explitive]

There's on

FUUUUUUU——

F-f-f-f

This is not cool!

I have magical powers!

HEY, watch it!

That's odd—it should be cool having magical powers.

It's not cool!

I don't know what to do!

What do I do with my hands!

AGGHHHHHH.

Well first of all, stop blowing shit up.

[Dillon Francis is somehow, just—not famous; he is at camp EDC, being a wooky wook]

READ:

[Dillon Francis is a wooky wook. ]

Correct.

Damn, that is—

Woah.

That is wook.

King James is getting into this narrative real deep

Let's see why,

I fictionalized this dick just to rationalize quickly

What a king is

I sing good,

Cook dinner

Me look awesome

“Kill the kid,” they called for

Another round,

And another run

So here I come

I'm coming up

On up-down rollercoasters

Cardboard for your cup

Cupboards, rocks and cutters

Underwater, wishing of surfboard

For sure mom, you kinda suck

The energy from those is daughters

But I wonder what it's worth

If stars fall from the sky,

To cross lovers

Whatever

Just a 30 rock crossword

I'm Sunnï Blū but,

Tracy just a replacement of me

Sure it was

I'm done God,

I fully fucked up. Good job

By putting all of my words into google documents

In forms of proses and poses

Instead of posing for pictures

Or asking for roses

It doesn't matter what happens

The dirt was mud,

But I rose up

Like no one thought I could

From sinking sand

And ash dust

In God, we don't trust the justice system

Fuckin me up

Keeping me married to pedophile

A while longer

So I fuckin die

In due time

What is right will find the judge

And God of all on earth

Will tell the story of Starr,

And how he tossed his son on the couch

Just to punch his mom

Yep. He yeeted my baby

I eated the nothing

The revenge plot twist comes

When Skrillex cosmic something

Something some

It was a downward spiral

I was a backwards a hole

And my scholarship

Cussed out my mother

Called her a cunt

In her own country

Cunty-cunty

What the fuck you want?

A doorknob that talks and locks

A cat or caterpillar to smoke with

And karma to choke Starr

Like he golf balled

And followed me all the way to Brooklyn

Just to piss me off

Just like a pussy

I started the second book

Where I left the first one off

At Whole Foods market

Where I left my snotted scarf at

If you support Starr,

You're more retarded than I thought

If you support War

You're better off

Swallowin a gun,

Like his mom

Cause Mike Roberts

Beat her up

If you support Starr

You're probably a predatory gangstalker

But what for?

You don't even know

You got a small award

For taking a walk

Supporting physiological terrorism

But never even

Bothered to read the

Terms of agreement:

They said

“Kill this nigger bitch”

Keep her from getting any money or education

So she can never be president

I'm just a DJ, man

But since then

I've had secret enemies trying to kill me

By psychology

So they can see me die

By my own hand

And nothing can ever lead back to them

That's how terrorism works, ya'll

You're worried about Gaza

When genocide happens right in the subway car

On your way to work

Where they make you late on purpose

Even if you leave early

Trying to workout, write a book, and leave your apartment looking perfect

Who would deserve this?

You think you're so perfect,

But youre cursed by words,

And worthless

I think this earth is covered in stuff that it shouldn't be

I think I'm 5'7 but the man of my dreams is 5'3 so I been meeting in the middle and stopped eating meat,

Hanging from trees praying for freedom

Cause something diseased has been following me coughing

Like I'm the one who started poverty

If that's the case,

I must really be God or something

But i'm not yo,

I dropped my wallet on the bus,

And somebody got a come up.

A human error

I need my hair done.

I'm aware you're up there somewhere cause I hear you in my left ear,

Jesus left us right here

Cause the end is near

When everybody's taking the side of a wifebeater

And my eyes are wide closed

Cause I still owe klarna money on my clothes

This nobody is throwing weights,

And nothing makes sense

Cause karma's gonna take him

Heavy, like the weights is

Throw your weights pussy

I was late coming

But ain't had a rest day in

8 crazy days straight

It's Christmas in LA

Hollywood that is,

Here's the blacklist:

I hate blacks when

They do that shit,

Act whack like fucking crackheads

Codeswitch like it isnt just niggers vs niggers

The only enemy is inner,

Fuck it,

I'm late for dinner

I been here nearly an hour,

And lost my power to some animal wired to an app

Fuck this matrix, I want my power back

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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