There was one time I cheekily asked for a guys guitar at a party around a little fire. Annie fed me many bud lights. I played said guitar, I woke up with blood on my face, not knowing the name, or whomes house I was at, or period blood on my face (Annies... i forgot that AM), and her apologizing to me profusely. It was ghastly.

I'm still not over her 15 years later.

Cliche that I tried, cared and tried. Tattoos permanently on your thighs. Marilyn Manson the guise. Gay. Lame. Fake. Fruit flies. Sweet yet nasty. At the split you devise, the right life, you have comprised, transition, reprise. You're married now but where am I.

It's great to grow and behold. Feed and grow old. It was never in what I knew for you. You wild little screw. But trust im happy, maybe, fuck me. What I've seen is dirty, messy, and skitzy. Doesn't change a thing, I miss thee.

You are chubby, pink, and stinky. But you chose everything but me. Sour days in bed talking to mom. Her fly trap over flow-ed. You're dad drums of gold. I tried, you saw some value in a beat persistent as a nuclear mossad.

We shared good taste in music. You showed me Gun Ship. NO² fits. With our agressive addiction fit. Happy songs I never thought were congruent, with you. With me. Yet you let it be, with no commitment at this vanishing point.

Years later I wrote this, thunk this, hate this. Not at all worried you can dissect this. Attack this. And. Trivialize this. My only hope is you never see this.

Ever night abv. Every day. I work. I fade away and sleep. Late nights I eat, then sleep, at three. Like a phoenix I be...come. New-ish chugging water to feed, a clean blood. Till attack it again with abv. It's me. Judge, hate, seeth, guarantee I hardly believe, you live. I give myself to tall boy unequivocally, next day rise PHOENIKALIVIQUALY.

You want it all. But you cant have it. What's this? Well its me in a drab empty apartment. What's this?!?! We'll sometimes I also like to make music. What's this? Indian food is pretty good. What's this? Simmer down, it is what it is... wanna play a fantasy game. WHATS THIS! hey man, im gonna be a mage or rogue dude calm down. What. Is. It. What is it. Sir Flamingpoo to you.

A memory is fleeting

It takes at least one to commit

Vast amounts of beautiful snapshots

Lost with the last beholder

A memory is to be coveted

Without a mind is existanceless

The colors, smells, smiles and tears once held value

Lost with the last beholder

A memory is shared

Many can live in the same moment

Angles and emotions blanketing an experience

Lost with the last beholder

A memory can replay

Making nights sleepless and uncomfortable

Morphing while analyzing regret or understanding

All Lost with the last beholder

A memory can die

Yet many cling to the comfort

Often the physical world can bring it about

Lost with the passing of the last beholder

If you are reading this disclaimer, you have recently met a man, wait, a boy, child wait, NO a man! Name Ike. As a cautionary note, he:

-Might not remember you.

-Might begrudgingly remember you.

-You might not care if he remembers you.

Also note that he may have:

- Definitly said unsavory things in your presence.

-Snorted cocain of the bar or toilet.

-Bashed (insert: ethnicity, religion, politics, music, or gender).

If you feel the need to report his behavior please send message to Wetbrained@ikesalvador.com

Thank you for your understanding and we would just like you to know: Ike is a Nihilist, and no matter how hard you try to make him understand, or care, or feel bad... I must inform you it has not worked thus far. And furthermore attempts to dispose of this individual have somehow made him stronger, more diabolical, and hateful. So please PLEASE, proceed with equally as much demonstrative bullshit.