Gonna hit the fanMature

The shit’s going hit the fan



The shit’s going to hit the fan

The photo reel is running backwards and scratching at the images.

As if it’s trying to set the memories free.

Everything is an accumulation.

Just ask every leaky faucet and every single cup.

Disaster is a process

Debris the creation

Ask every inhalation why we must hold on to the exhalation?


The rabbit hole is not a tunnel

It is just that, a hole.

They tell you what to expect.

But our heart holds such naivety

There really is no out

Forces collide

Rocks erode

Even when our eyes roll into the back of our head




We are but sprouts

Seeking the wisdom of the earth

A voice calls out to us “Grow!”

As if we could with-hold

I don’t know what they mean

Yet the boom and they stomp


When will I know when I’ve grown?




Do you ever feel dizzy?

Like you can feel the earth’s axis?

They tell me it’s because your hungry

You’re hungry for so many things

You can’t tell me why you abstain

The reason is to simple and too plain to see

Yet you’d rather not look



The End

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