Go on, Topeka, keep sucking. Go ahead, get your fill. Stuff your face and choke on the energy you waste. I can’t leave to soon. This town is a cesspool of hatred, animosity, liars, plastic service, all in the name of Mr Jones and schizophrenia.
But this is my party and I’ll only cry if I want to.
You may cry too. You may not. You don’t need nor have my permission. Get out what makes you sick. It’s more a foretelling of future astonishing revelations divulged by you.
April, it’s slow, little hoe for a gardener. It can go to hell, taking pricks with you. Just a few days till May. Churning out living nightmares most aren’t imaginative enough to dream. Your worst nightmare can never hold a candle to to my dream. I have a soul and a heart, such a ruthless combination
I won’t miss you. Just to diss you? Wouldn’t kiss you. Keep your distance. Not even for a sneeze, would I bless you.
I will say it one more time before I go. Not bottling much up.
May all your blessings have truth. May your future be bright, like the light of a picture.
Have a nice day. I plan to next month.
B-bye to you, April, 2017.