Life, the universe, existence, and all its possible occupants aren’t truly what they seem. Coherent enough between intervals and radiuses. There all present, right? Present is a term meant for the typical surface area. Things aren’t always what they seem when hiding in the dark. Darkness is without equal. Light is a mere pale imitation full of global pandemics! It’s our belief system. Darkness is turmoil. Light is delusional. One without equality, has no bearings to equal itself. Itself having no identity. No speaking. Nothing to argue about. Sitting in a stereotypical platform! Nothing dynamic about life’s purposes. When everyone is cleaning up the trick hiding in the light. Darkness has no equal. It’s scared. Not out for itself. Light is, because it understands too much. Shutting out the one who is truly full of equality to begin with. Revolving around the spectrum we call life, the universe and existence. Mere plans that sit and stare. Never making a true mark on anyone’s very sense of self. Sense of self bleeding dry! Being dry doesn’t mean it’s without equal. But without purpose. You all never understanding why that is. Tricking you into believing what is, and what really is. When what really is just another diversion staring off with a blank expression. Life is inside out for one reason. Components become instigated by mere lies. Stamped by something totally made up. Tethered by the strings of half lies, and half truths. Never perceiving the real giving’s on what truly matters. That’s the problem. Half truth never becoming that realization. Too dangerous for outsiders to truly perceive. Components are stamped to believe in false impressions on purpose. Reasons that go beyond the spectrum of every sense of life combined! Life, the universe, existence, is nothing without its occupants. Very reason they have thought’s and feelings. Nothing is without reason. Unless it’s a forced gimmick hiding in the light that isn’t equal.

Like probability. Fate exhibits the constraints to a more tolerable atmosphere at heart. The heart of an atmosphere, is the atmosphere functioning with a heart. Completely one sided. Never admitting who’s mentions are who. Whose opinions mattered the absolute most. Options become tiresome. Tolerable frequencies through pure hearts devoted without contract to inner self awareness. Prompting the judgment of what atmosphere has over the heart of the problem. There are problems within hearts? WHAT!! Contrary to the balance of symmetries without depth. Hearts full of many brimming effects. Only determined to sending out there resume for better times. And which one is disclosing from the standard developments rotting the better picture into ruin? Pictures printed with resumes aren’t fruitful. When dynamics in the surface, isn’t comparable to challenge. Challenge lays claims to birthing the right focus. Take charge! Listen carefully to directions! What does that all haft to do with fate being exiled? It doesn’t. Well, not conclusively anyway. Fate is a thought manufactured behind the scenes. It won’t show it’s face directly. Too imposed in everyone else’s business. A directive with no claim in its heart. An atmosphere unsocialized with parts never discovering inner desires. Concluding fate never trusting itself. Fate exiled… Means to test one’s own claims of basic will. The hint is why does fate act? Rather then think the way it’s acting? Could simply be a perspective too old for the majority to classify broadly about. Justifications rise and fall. Birthing the right assorting facts, isn’t a focus. It’s diverging away. Imprints full of empty reassurance. Concluding something different in a basic platform the majority concentrates on. Fate just stands taller than the rest. Filtering all unsuspecting protocols from the inside out. Propagating pressure with insolence. Insolence flowing in-between the rough exteriors of right and wrong. Abiding time for another surface. Triggering the inside out dynamics at large. A picture finally noticing a part of itself without deciphering what complexes itself apart from the others. All this is a much-discovered piece of evidence. But it lacks companionship. No light or dark. A patronage not as diverse as the one heeding influences out with a weapon changing velocities around left and right. Pieces of quietness is an illusion. The surface being what it is. Underneath is where fate discloses further information completely. It’s weapon of probability is just that. A surface area too big for noticing details in itself. Rather picking others to commune a wishing sentence. Hinting at probability being a fake! There isn’t probability in the logical area of flat platforms without big thinking specifics. It’s all hogwash! Fate determines exilement to rush the borderline potential awareness of others. Except that’s probability maneuvering as a mask in the light. Tricking typical surface dwellers in an area too complex for delusional purposes. Even it’s claims are full of doubt. So why does everyone bounce from one flaw to the next? Practicing what it means to put one step after the other. Exercising doubt completely as a waypoint to a better tomorrow. More like a fruitful one-minute moment of standards too gray for focuses to admit. (Tricking won’t get you anywhere, if your full of bland statements.) An assertive quote straight from someone who exiles themselves onto others for practices into the next benign claims. Resumes with a statement that’s only delusional to what tricking isn’t. Showing you exile is the right future for an atmosphere with a heart. Which functions its heart towards the atmosphere. Switches in claims divert the true knowledge around in circles. So, who is fate, exactly? What possibly could they decide amongst themselves for the better future to the surface area of majorities? Try flipping yourself inside out. You might just want to write (Exile) on the permission slip of your own determined mark. Welcome to your identity in exile!

If nobody cares to accept you and wants you in this world,
accept yourself
and you will see that you don't need them and their selfish desires

Skin
Too much skin.
Too much space.
Too many flashing lights.
Epilepsy.
Too much skin.
Carnal wishes without discretion.
Killing me.
Too much skin around me.
Too much skin for me too see.
Smoothly.
Lights pulsating under the layers.
I want to feel skin other than mine.
I've gotten tired of wasting time.
Coliding and condoning myself for not looking better.
For not making other layers of skin want mine the way I want them.
No-one particularly.
Tonight I just want to feel loved and I just ain't enough.
Skin.
Kilometers that my fingers want to run over.
Skin stretching over structured bones, taking the hues of the blood passing through.
How does it feel you fool?
To have someone love you thoroughly?
From your veins to nose cartilages ?
How does it feel tell me?
Incoherently I'm thinking if I can find love in my own skin.
Too used to it so negative.
Tell me how does it feel?
To have skin touch yours that is not evil?
How does it feel to not hate the skin you're touching?
How does it feel to love feeling?
Skin.
Too much skin.
Too much space.
Epilepsy.
How would  one's skin ever survive loving me?