I am the experiment.
This is my place.
This is my role.
The drug paints hallucinations of meanings around each single of these empty words,
that are naked on a notepad but belong onto a colorful clustersheet,
pityfully fallacy!
Can we, the two of us,
find the meaning of rhymes in here together?
We can engine the searches, only if we want to;
and talking about principles:
Well,
most of it, it's ego shit, and I dare to write and spit on anything forbidding me my will I'm freely willingly willed to write
a *title now, within the flow, than out of it at given times, when it rims
and rhymes and Romes and rums.
Goddamnit,
let me write when I want to, not if you could to, how dare you, I'm sensible and easy to brittle, don't pressure me with principles, you son of a dissociative spine itch!
- We were derailing. And still are. Rhymes so easy, reasons so far. Words I delete will never teach me memoriance.
Two tasks,
can't comprehend this nonsense, I slide on the blade of sentences that split my own illusive walls of honour I enhanced -
throughout the conversation with each myotherselves, perhaps
in advance, far before you knew,
this
that's
choppy-chopped chown-chauwn-to-grid-cheese-strings
¿point of view?,
while I faithe for making sense with my course of understandnessless mess of a what's a
what-a hard digest.