Oxygen.

[Bruklor]

Oxygen

I breathe, just a little longer,
lungs become confused by hunger.
A bit of romance floating in the mist,
dancing with love being a gist.
Every pull I take is starting to hurt,
punching at my chest for it to work.
I breath and feel a little closer,
finally I feel, well, sort of.
Face by the real reality,
we have a dangerous compatability.
You're with me everywhere I am,
Back of my mind, deep inside, or on my hand.
To be a man, I'd have to just leave,
but to do that I couldn't breathe.
You're a habit that's getting to me.
There's something inside me; rust.
You patronize it down to being lust
But evil has nothing to do with trust
It's a drunk and disorderly dependency
Was it you that made water currency?
I'm eighty, dying from what I need.
Soon I'll be paying a dollar to breathe.

[Maven.]

Ah, the Bruklor comeback.
I liked this because it seems, to the untrained eye, like a motherfucking love poem. And I was mad cause I was I all like "Dayum, james, you wrote a motherfucking love poem. Shitty."
But I re-read it a few times, and now I want to go hack a butt. I like that you say it without really saying it, and throw off the reader with your simplicity. It's a poisonous love poem, and one that kills/maims anyone who experiences it.
Welcome back, self.

[Paperback]

Whoa` It's been so long since I've read anything from you
I almost forgot how well your descriptions are in your writing.
This was well worth the read and I think in year 2094 we will pay for air`
I still won't have a job in 2094..

[Bruklor]

LMAO. Paper,

No matter how down I am, at least I always know "I have a job, and Paper doesn't".

Thanks guys.