This wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for you. I suppose one could consider it some sort of anothers', hmm... influence (?). But my immediate thoughts inform me otherwise, instead finding mundane reasoning or explanation that at once satisfy said analysis.
Regardless, I got paid nine dollars and fifty cents and hour for its realization, providing it with some sort of economic value (which I suppose gives it merit of some type exterior to anything having to do with you or me).
If you do decide to read this then let it be known that the poem was written first. Maybe this gives this 'meaning' of a sort.
That's no more absurd than the usual shit that bombards our daily lives.
SOME SAY YER BAT SHIT CRAZY. OTHERS SAY YER CUTE. I AM SUDDENLY REMINDED OF THE AGITATION THAT STIRS UP SOMETIMES WITHIN MINUTES OF REINTRODUCING MYSELF TO THE CROWD THAT HAS CONTRIBUTED SUCH A GREAT DEAL TO THE CONDITIONING THAT CONTINUES TO SHAPE ME IN CLEVELAND. I'D BE LYING IF I TOLD YOU THAT I DON'T BELIEVE THIS IS SOMETIMES MUTUAL, AT LEAST IN SOME RESPECT, BUT I COULD REALLY START BLAMING MYSELF LESS.
I CAN DO A HANDFUL OF THINGS, BUT I WONT TELL YOU WHO'S HAND. I DON'T THINK YOU CARE, BUT NEITHER DO I (most of the time) WHICH IS WHY I'M STILL WRITING.
TURN AROUND AND GO SOMEWHERE.
Some notes on wreckin' silly (vibe) ation
Thinkin' 'bout my agile erectal agitation
Introduce you to my parents' epileptik flesh connection
Then dreams that rumble my mind as much as we let each other down