Fickle Fetish

Making the unseen transpire for the sake of leaving room for cream.
Strong and black too dark for a reflection that douses the eyes before the race.
Winning three years ago does not count like a preschooler finishing his shapes in time for a nap.
Baby dangles from a mobile. PICTURES! loving the life created together.
Published for every entity to eat, shit out the reminiscence of innocence.
Shipped over cobweb of obsession, wrapped and given to an indian at a computer.
Do not log in so quickly. Forgetting to say please turns at least one sense into stone.
Sagging, dragged heavily on the ground. Scrapping, graveled N' blood. Crinkling forehead shows the age that has been invested in showing a reaction.
Muscles flex showing the veins of good intention. The after math brings the young to the walkers that usher a cause.
Vintage sounded good until waves of grain eroded the varnish. Can not taste anything but metal, the hippocampus shrinks.
Spells of depression compress more than just a finger in the door.
The cat slides into home plate. High fives of satisfaction trigger a night's sleep.
Goodnight pillow, calling in the morning, the sheets stretched further west than expected.
Splashing together a kaleidoscope of doubt envelopes the stench of comfort.
Driving off the side of a cliff, optimizing transgression in the form of a pencil.
Used as an instrument for party favors.
The clown was late, chocking on balloon did not end in a fifty dollar check.
Rent is behind, even the literal rat as a landlord can be unfair.
Points off, A plus, assertiveness only gets the fix for a second.
What happens when that seconds does not reach the potential that it could?
Disappointed in the show that was put on by stuffed animals pulled by lines of floss.
The teeth are white, but in between the brown residue bonds, causing a "fall" like season of the mouth.
Information center, located in the epicenter of the left kidney, excreting wasteful knowledge, applied for a single letter, flushed.
Forgiven only by thoughts of yesterday.
Trying.



He stared for a few seconds, hoping that his gaze would be snatch up by the woman he was looking at.
Most people had hobbies that worked for their needs of being productive, not him. If he had kept tally marks of all the times he had stared at people in the name of a hobby, there would be entire note books filled. What a wastes. Even the trees made him feel bad about his hobby, or was it an obsession? Fixated on forms, physically drawn to or not, assessing the shapes that create mass in open space. Perhaps the continuous episodes of infatuation were Freudian attempts at living vicariously through others. Happiness did not lack in his demeanor, the replacement came a couple of weeks ago. What science needed to work on was a pill that extinguished or at least curb curiosity. Channeled towards the wrong areas of interests, curiosity was the time waster. Only to be coupled with actual categories could curiosity then be useful. He imagined a day when people, the very entity that he saw everyday, would not bring an avalanche of inquiry so strong that it made him fall mentally to his knees. Scraped pretty bad, state of art band-aids did not help the clotting of thoughts directed towards people, women, physical forms.

When going about analyzing the very configurations that brought the down fall of his days, there was really only one tactic. Being relentless. Being relentless in gaze. After doing this for quit sometime, he began to find that a gaze hides more than it shows. Many people that he would try and trance would only pay attention for a second, then look away, never contributing to the exchange in unspoken infatuation. Maybe it was only he whom invested more in the activity than anyone else. After all he did feel that it was his hobby alone.

Most of the time when he stared, the glances fell on people that were distracted by other things in their world. Most common as of lately had been cell phones. He never had a problem with cell phones. Owning his own, he saw the phone as facilitator of his hobby. The phone in the possession of others alleviated moments of opposing gazes. He was never a competitor. Remembering back to a time when he played sports, he would clout the very efforts of his teams attempts at winning, just to bypass the celebration of conquering others. Interaction should never have an end. He saw it only as means in understanding the existence of senses. Not to others. Some things had to be gained in order to appraise the value of exchange. His hobby never asked for anything in return. There had been routine occasions where hope exceeded expectation in the reciprocation of shimmering eye contact, but after awhile the calling of quits for such deliverance took seat at the table of prediction.

In most cases, it almost felt like a reflection of needed attention. Never discussing the interpretation of his habits, he kept them to himself. To him, they were the last thing that even the most closes of kin could not break down and digest. He considered it treasure. The kind that many people kill for, but only after the person who owned it, died. Regardless of its worth, he kept his own because at the end of the day he could make a highlight real, showcasing the things that made the day have merit. Each person he attempted to fixate his attention on became a player in his ever growing play. He wrote the script with each sigh he made for the person that would not return the ever longing glimpse he pictured at the turn of ever head.

Looking back on the meddled images of himself, uncovered the low self esteem he fed through trying to gain every glance. People had mentioned to him of having strong features. Unfortunately that engendered an ego that fueled a desire to make big advancements in his life. Taking bigger and bigger strides in the direction of fake success, he tripped, breaking his nose of the curb of reality. No one, but himself, was around to see the mishap. That disappointed him. His fifteen minutes of fame were eaten up by the present of same person who had become obese on the experiences pulled all his life. He urned for more of an audience. Applauding with out the lit up sign, were the actor can not see. He had more to offer. He could juggle chainsaws, in a literal sense of course.

Situation after situation led more lead into an already heavy heart. As soft as cotton ball, his feelings towards affection became soggy with each drip of snot from the up turned noses of the people he watched. Unlike television's version, his reality shows existed in his head, directing him to more day dreaming. Worse than loosing all stock in one day, he lost hope every time a name was not asked for. Echoing, sneers blasted from a distant feeling of regret. He knew that churning out the same feelings everyday for himself would make him older than he needed to be, especially when he already felt eighty four.