Blaze a blunt, because they’re all in, finally made it, feeling good, like I wanted. Out to pour honey over the silk, be back before lunch time and call a pusherman. Making ends at the last straw. The wind will now your thoughts, as soon as they leave the tongue.
Voracious mass spreaded in poetry. Produced thyself, for myself, crystallized in memory. Like my emotions had been froze, harsh times in hardships had my heart still and muted. For every word written in hope to explode profound sensations. Burn. Smile at awareness. Heaviness in wisdom, whirlwind of poetic allures.
Infusing in the veins of others. Images of me printed on your memory. Invictus enigma. I stayed closed up, poetry is a selling tool. It’s been a long time. I open up for those who toil in their efforts. Eyes tightly sealed. Staggering in my absurdity. Plucked from obscurity. Where you lived once in the void of life, where they all in strange ways placed value in the most mundane actions, in a place now where reality had collided with mythological events. Turning out folklore.
My entire life has not been in protest of human principles.
Just saw the worth in innovating originality, to go out make something of thyself. Because the life lived without confront it’s destiny and conquering my own personalized fate, was not worth one simple-basic moment.
As for those I’m not apart of. Do not weep now or never. It’s such a waste.  I left to cross over. Rumors spark chatter of death.
(knowledge variable)