Ten out of ten, one hundred percent, an A+ plus

whoops, I forgot the period.

(Unless you want to ****)

Not trying is right up there within the top of regrets.

Hopefully you live a life,

One you will not want to forget.

No one wants to see themselves die,
but,
yet,
here we all are taking our own pictures.

If I write misery you'd eat it up,
you'd chew until you couldn't chew,
you'd swallow wouldn't you?

When I write love you have none,
you just become to what you succumb,
several takes away from dumb.

I could chalk it all up to beauty,
but the score board will tell what's there
even without your interventions.

It knows even if you don't.

No one will ever read every note I’ve ever wrote,
nor think every thought I’ve ever thought,
but when I say to you not to look onto your life with hate,
but to find the love that you deserve;
I hope you hear my hope.

I'm indifferent about this place.

I wish that existence's nothing would swallow this shallow apparition and that I could live high inside of a cloud on a planet that had none of the miscarriages that we call modernized life, for existence's sake, on a star that burned out before this was readable.

But that's just what's on my mind right now...

I know that from a human being's conception to their demise that they are pressing their consciousnesses into an image that's being totally misconstrued, and I know that that's no way to live, but it's life.

Now time to add to my story; see you in another 13.8 billion years so I can regale your consciousnesses built within their chemically responsive fold's housings, or perhaps rather a (for a lack of a better word) reconfigurable differently shaped cranium, or whatever non human jelly fish like organism then which would hold thee, but irregardless this is English and you have nothing to show for it but the allegations of judgment and communal stigmata that you probably don't even care to understand, nor bother to know why it even existed in the first place.

Simile if you know what's on your mind every time you have something to say on this plagiarist's controlled orientated  platform created by the people that some guy alive at some point ripped off and was sold to some other people that don't give a **** about their own lights.

Like if you like.

Comment only if you want your insanity to be on display.

Don't understand if you don't understand, or at least if you don't want to.

The mind is real.

Reality is real.

People often don't understand either of those two things, whether it be conditioning, or that it's a fire to bright to look into that they'd be happy with their average deaths.

Then that's that, but that's neither here nor there. It's in both places at the same time and a rant can be called such, but if I summed it down to one word I'd be called crazy.

So I won't let you in on it love.

(written drunk)

I rather turn into a bouquet of flowers then a basket of roses...

If that means anything to you then do what ever you will do.

Smiley.

Playing off of Shakespeare seems to be the case...

I don't know you.
You don't know me.

"I" Which I often said in life.

I’m in awe that I can not write fast enough for me to ask a question within myself, but on my thoughts they will be.

I'm just a remembrance of me that I'm trying to describe at a later time, but isn't that how it feels all the time?

Living in a moment just so later we can watch that moment unwind.

I wonder, when will time look me up?

Is it just inside of a thought--just within this dream; my own mind?

Reality plays coy when it must and a wild current when it wills itself to be.

But still this is real.

Looking above the fences of offences to try to see the luscious garden on the other side; the mind that gets filtered through the soul so as to put circumstances to the side and say what "I" really mean.

I'm me and I know what I mean and as I write me to know me I become me to explain it to me, and of me, to get to the meaning of what it truly means to be an I.