fat brown sumbitch in a tshirt

A lot of people call it curiosity but I can't really get with that. I think nosy is a better description. I wonder if I could handle being one of those ignorant dummy's walking around all day without that ugly wrinkle/crease in the space between their eyebrows. It's all smooth and perfect because they're happy and they're happy because they don't know. They'll step out their front door without that shitty feeling in their stomach and they'll drive to work and only minimally road rage. I don't even know what that means. There was a time when I didn't know and I wasn't bothered by what I know. There was a day when I was normal and clueless and those were the days that I loved differently. I'll tell you what, that's a better way to love. Now there is reserve and how the shiz can you even call that love? I'm reserved. Gay. It's like being in a straight jacket in the way that you want to punch faces but you're being forced to hug a person you can't even stand which is yourself. I love when shit doesn't even make sense to me. Anyway, it mostly reminds me of the October picture on my calender which is some crazy Italian mosaic of a man and woman hugging and the woman's back is to us and her clothes are hanging low so her ass is showing. But the man, he's looking past the woman-over her shoulder, while she has her arm around the back of his head. It's endearing. But, he's looking past her, not at her. Not in her eyes. Not at her probably bare muffin. He's looking past her and you can see it in his eyes that he's somewhere else-with someone else, probably wondering if he'll ever make it to Mexico, since Mexico is so far away from Italy. But that's the draw, really, because the furthest he can get from this moment would set his comfort level back in the normal range. Weird that I can see all that in a picture of a mosaic. I might need to cover the picture with a page I ripped out of an old Stuff magazine . It's Brooke Burke nudely laying by the pool, pretending to read a magazine with fantastic hair. No wrinkle/crease on that bitch because she has many pages to go through in her magazine and she's back in a time before she added silent e's to her name. She's back in a time before she knew.

This was not meant to be so cry baby.