eleven.

yup.

eleven falafels, neighbors.

i could've stopped at ten yesterday.

heck, 

i probably should've stopped at ten,

but i didn't.

i mean, really,

when the option to take it further is staring at you, 

right smack dab in the eyes,

covered in hummus,

double-dog-daring you to go too far,

what the F* else can you do?

that's right, my ninjas.

i did that sh!t, 

because i doo-doo that sh!t-

i activated that extra sumthin'-sumthin',

and crammed another 'nother one in my craw.

there she is.

number XI.

so sexy, so delicious, so dope.

eleven for the week...

...so far.

this time,

just to really teach myself a lesson about self-destruction,

i used waaaay too much v.h.s., too.

i can feel it, even still.

burning my insides outside-in,

and inspiring some more of those falafel-style

fever dreams that kept me restless and semi-delirious

throughout the long lonely hours of the late late nighttimes.

on the real,

i had spicy nightmares like cold sweaty hot fire an' that.

pretty much this, every time i closed my eyes:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.

i guess tons of fried food, spicy peppers, and raw garlic

all combine forces to counteract and undermine 

the positively positivity-reinforced life changes of this last year.

that's a hard style,

but it's also the butt-ugly truth-

what you love will try to kill you.

if it doesn't, it isn't true love;

at best it's just 'true like'.

awwwwwwww.

-

thanks for trying to kill me, falafels.

i knew we had something real.

-

there's still more fair to be had.

i've got duders taking buses from far flung reaches

to get at this busy business and participate in the

unfolding of these secret universal plans,

as all of it all really happens.

uh-huh.

eleven may have hurt me,

but unlucky 13 will probably do even worse.

then again,

if you aren't broken,

you aren't doing it right,

and we all know it's well nigh time to get right;

never quiet, never soft.....