Flint, of the Walrus.

.what the rock is cooking.

i treat my urges like a crew of a pirate ship

that i'm the captain of.

its democratized violence,

rationalized passion.

they know we both need  "something"

one only attainable

truly, through one another... truly.

we are clearly indispensable to each other.

still like an idiot or a fucktard...

using urges to manipulate a direction

that a life i happen to be the captain of....

takes.

and then the turn

, it smells awful funny.

like there's a f*****g mutiny...

can you feel it?

coming...

i can smell it...

it's not always the scent you'd expect

it doesn't always come like you'd want it to...

  

Author's Note