You kick into a start and you can already feel the empty air shaping your words and wrapping itself around your exhausted limbs. The world withers and the birds fly thirsty. The world is dying crumbling with corruption you dont know how to hide from the storm. Your guitar heart turns on and off until your face is now covered with shadows. The bruises everywhere remind you of the tear ducts ripping off and your weak weak weakness. In the valley you are lonely and deserted and your story is now tied up and waves at the debris by the road. The lines are drawn and the shotgun is pointed somewhere here or there you break because youre breakable and fragile and uneven. The voices mingle with your head with your nerve cells with your strings. You feel the cuts you feel the drops you feel the PAIN. You write on PAPER from pen to pen and jab jab save save save as then maybe youll fall out of place again and again over and over again because you you cant seem to understand the ways of bliss and original elements. Time is a damn obligation you hate to meet and curfew is nearing but you stand alone stand stand alone in that tiny spot in the corner because just because you know the depression of your veins is hard to bail. You cling to the remains of bones of life and you dont know how to collect and keep without losing while feeling. Emotion emotion emotion turns away and kisses the darkness you built around you for troubled safety and separation from the serpents lying outside. control. Control. Hurricanes break the cement under you and bind the webs underneath together.
You hate the smell of life and the taste of dullness so from branch to branch you kill and die.
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