• Travis Ryan


Updated: May 15, 2020

Something irks my body like a tick that digs deep falling into the cracks just for a little while I let it burn... it just seems right... let the bullet bury I tell myself...

scratching notebooks, desiring light, right in front of my eyes, seeing the truth, it is my mind, the trip that is okay

My pulse reflects a drive by shooting and just walking on as a fight breaks out and it’s not me though I can contribute with a 9mill in my mind and my blood funnels into my fingers and my target is perfect. Is it supposed to be? I mean, really... shoot the target or just hold the gun like a toy doing nothing. I am a shooter. I have to do something with what I am holding, my hands are made of iron under soft skin that can carry fire and love the burn... for the show, watch the shows.

Straight behind the bars blocking me are challenging and I feel above the position of hope, rug designs are just the way they are and I recoil like soft skin cold on a winters day, why would I lie on a rug weeping though that feels pretty okay right now, I just stare at it and laugh, it looks too comfortable?... I look at my 300 fucking books and know what I know I don’t need to read into them anymore. A present comes and the fucking “words have two meanings line” by Led Zeppelin annoys the shit out of me, because it speaks of indifference. Siting on my hands is only something I do when I’m about to get kissed... I am as I am...

I approach the circle of people to talk with and hang, I don’t need a dictionary to fucking be with people anymore that’s hard, though I know painfully I am just editing myself. What the fuck is attractive about that? Then I break out my spikes... this is pain, assuming others... It is allowed no more... falling into love... breathe me... read me... watch my hair in the wind, blowing through death and consequence, bravery and venom... laughter and love, it is optical, all I am.

I rip myself apart and rip out my heart at night and in the morning it is full. I used to arrange my own trips and it used to work, and I learned a lot and saw more than I thought possible and I wouldn’t trade it for anything nor anyone. That is always mine and no one can take those visions and truths away from me, reflecting with the truth of who I am and the truth of what the fuck I stand on, dirt... and a molten core... the knowledge passed on by everyone as if they were talking to me right fucking next to me...

I used to be a man who insulted everyone and thought it was the truth... people either get it and love it or they fight it. The strong tend to prove people are stupid and not worth what they think they are worth; I would literally tell people their own life. And drink to it, congratulating myself for telling the “truth”, consequentially, I would fuck only lies and live it and call it Love. 15 years of this coming up and trying to express it amidst all truth... is next to impossible because ever Lou was false, how to I express the truth if it is false... I’ve just let it all be bullshit and vial and... I can’t call myself this anymore... My free-flowing blood nowadays intimidates my ego, not the other way around... the Ego in my soul is right in front of me and dissipates quickly, at least when I don’t deny it... I basically sell my Ego drugs nowadays... “here, have this 8th, zone and spit your shit later, I’m busy.” Those words once structured as poison, luster ally each one is now an easy target, a one-hand POP.POP... welcome, no bullshit... everything has become fucking fun.

I am as I am. A bullet of diamond pressured from coal... a bad boy... now colored and painted with it... not blooming, just better aim. It is as simple as a piece of memorabilia. Separate it, cut it right in two, everything analyzes itself, call it fate, everything is to be observed. I think I’ll take a walk... take my brain on a journey... through the fire that burns and I let it burn... I am ash and dust... the rest is air.

"Recovering Thought Addict" "Philosofiend" "Stitchmaster of Sentences"

Travis Muffhuggin Ryan


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