There is no room for gods for angels and hope for wings of flight and depth of field this defensive arms want to yield and this scarred heart wants to heal
There is no room for imagination under the weight of these books the text fills me up no devils cup no drugs or substances can free my mind the weight of the world is unkind and the sub titles aren’t signed and chaos has died in my mind or it’s been set free I can’t escape I just don’t want to be…
I don’t know what to name it It’s such a beautiful emotion Provoking my heart to race against itself Fooling my eyes I can’t comprehend it’s weightlessness It’s almost too freeing My breath leaves me My palms sink into the earth, it’s perfect Everything is perfect There is hope here There is life here It’s an indescribable emotion
Taught to mistrust god’s stuffed in a box with worn out labels outside and outfoxed, the new taboos are coming blur out the genitals cross no more lines necks in a u bend thumbs swipe the shine it’s coming, it’s coming normals never been the same few are wise to the rise most awash with the game you can’t see you're a projection dazzled by your light searching amongst an ocean of peddlers on soapboxes, screaming to fight.
Writing style is becoming abstract, intuitive and lacking in sensibility. Kinda like it!
I dreamt he sent a care package A shabby box filled with wall sconces from his ******* apartment half filled tablets thoughts and doodles with a note to not abuse substances and a really nice vinyl pressing of some nineties spoken word piece with one or another unknown ska alt rock grunge band That sure was nice of him I must have sent some good psychic ***** Spirits they call it