milton.

"I wish I would be nothing"

milton green is just a boy now, in 1977 hes just a boy and non of the world collisions came in contact with him.

the books he reads are of ceaseless magnitude and he is dependent on everyone and no one is dependent on him, he is cotton and he is silk and he is all things soft and delicate and not a soul is content at his existence.

but he exists and that is most precious.

at 18 he is just a boy he is about to clutter on to the world of maturity, but he is treading pacing infrasonicly.

but now he is grand and every soul raes at his approval.

milton green desires days of nothing but sunshine, nothing but warm beds and god awful feeling of worthlessness.
maria use to be.
and his mother use to be,
and his wretched
wretched
poetry
all
use
to be.
milton green awakes to the sound of cars colliding to impress he awakes to morning madness and the thought of a world living on the very edge of their chair for a word of his.
non of us want to be someone.