Puncture.ation of temperament

I must admit. I delete. Almost everything. I wirte. I punctuate. And separate. As a certain way. Of skirting trust. I let it be. And let it live. By killing off. What it once was. But might this oft'. Be better than. Deleting. Every. Thing at. Once. ? I'm sure I know my answer when I run my mouth for days and spin so many words around in quite a stunning haze of blurry and tremendous racquet-thunder bolt of gazes through the open doors of heaven and my feet can't find my way out tangled forest anchors of my mind when I can't punctuate the finer thoughts so well or half the times I can't recall in my own life though out of stride maybe blessings unrevealed I still need a signal of the ending of the odder grandeur times just as a message in need of a dot to keep. Things. In. Line. It seems. There is. Not a difference. And. I still. Must stab. My sentence.s. with oh. So many. Dots. But I. can't let. My self. Go. Enough. To say. This right. So I'll. Just say. It seems I can only keep my balance, when I "don't know" what to say.

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