seventy five percent and of the unprosetic words eighty some is silver. eighty some a studded cup, insulated yard sale zippers, two black doors, just like the hood of a past to a sister. sometimes the existence is painful, but with sweet will come bitter, merely wishing for peaceful decisions that do not fester but glimmer, although the fear is insurmountably weighted heavily pressed to the soul, and occasionally cracking the skull, creating a beat just to keep a distraction for temperature, redirection of heat, and tears under stars will shimmer with shivers of guilt - acceptance pending, as this will not wither, this will not wilt.