A new kind of enemy.
My name is Sebastiàn. Raging Pisces. TEXAS.
I am a simple, disoriented man.
I could be seen as having an escapist behavior.
Spiritual Guru.

vatos that study botany.
|( ̄3 ̄)|

sometimes you walk around thinking things
and then you stop thinking,
and you start to think about what you thought,
then your eyes go into tunnel vision as thoughts stop.
& somewhere between all that
gasoline goes up a penny or two,
and my doubt of interaction with you,
and so does the price of bottled water,
and global starvation numbers
but why bother.
there never was an ever
as I sit avoiding definitions
of friends, honesty, and forever.
the realization that a gun can change your life
quicker than anything I could possibly write
uncertainties, “choo-choo”, thinking I can,
and blankets like Mexicans always seem a little warmer
when contrasted to an afghan.
I knew what one was,
but was never introduced to two.
they say it’s a sin to kill a mocking bird,
but what if the mocking bird kills you?
…and somehow rhyming is appearing on this poem,
vanishing, faster than it came about,
drifting back and forth in a drift,
making sense of sentences,
but falling off context  from line to line.
I never knew what fun could be
until I sat up thinking about it.
if you say it enough, and hear it enough
it might feel meaningless to doubt it.
never knowing what time or distance was
until you walked it.
never knew the power of words,
what a pen could do
when out of your mouth till you talked it.
Tom Pain knew something, I know,
but I didn’t know him.
funny how you can never meet someone
and feel like you “owe it to them”.
and you’ll never be right
talking about human rights,
the lefter you left or the whiter you write.
talking about guns and shit that I don’t know.
talking about school and shit where you wont go.
two things at once:
not church and state
talking and blinking.
ink drips
as I fuck around
walking and thinking.

I loved you most and now you are a ghost I walk right through