Ghostwriters live with through the past
Times in crisis
You can rely on a shoe
A horse, where you lay your berries and doubts
With a capacity
Where do you go with fruits of a French painting
In a stolen
Forged solution
You're trapped
But you can get out there is a fine line of apocryphal doubt
But, with the setee straightened out
With the bow tie kept in your box
With no bone or war buckled on shoulders
There would be no narrative
An opportunity to get enraptured by the essence of something personal
With an ego is as dissociated
With a fresh feeling in blue tweaks of watered bushes
In the cold roses and the peaches
In the present day
Of the sycophant
The colourful mind
With a road behind him to keep enchanted
By its presence
With the years behind
The longest conversation I had with myself
I just thought someone read and knows
The end