We are the virtues of natures
                           measurements.
No matter the strength that portray ,
                            we are each but wind.

Captured in a singular episodes
that collects

                                within a series of




cyclone syllables.


              And each is more vocal.
                 causing more destruction with


meanings that was expelled before.



Weep on the condensation that falls,
                 for the breath that collects after
                 will carry you further
      

Than any that fell in subjugation
                               before any verse...

where all wind in an eclipse of motions,
                      also surpassing every falling..

I dropped a bag of free muffins
on your shins and the cat
freaked out on top of you
ran off, and knocked over your water.

You're such a ******* stiff
you might as well have
rigor mortis.

Gorgeous though.

So I tried to be nice,
but I laughed too ******* the inside,
and I'm probably
never apologizing.

If you're looking for one,
*******, buttercup.
I got fuel to burn
and I'm saving my remorse
for the people I've ****** over
worse
and you ain't topping that
totem pole.

When your alone
the fear creeps back
reminding you,
your alone, no one knows,
the pain inside, just wanting to
meet one who understands what
its like to be tagged,
and to be the only one with the tag,
some genetic mutation
not inherited, in a sea of people
you, the mutation
almost like your
a science project gone bad.
The stares, the words
all blending into one word,
not remembering all that is said
forgetting the important words
conversations slipping not
remembering
lost.

This tattoo is slowly becoming
an ironic advertisement.
I'm just here.
Writing.
For Christ's sake, if this is how
we make our art, we're all ******, huh?