The sky, gloomy and cloudy
Flowing tears, loud and mighty
So strong that trees sway,
So strong that bees scatter away

For this was not a cheery moment;
Leaving the lands in such an oddment
The violent wind is preying on the dwellers of this region,
Making them wary of the fuels they hold in their possession.

Should we stop? They mutter
Of course not, leaving this land to suffer
The sky in grief morphed into anger
Sending the lightning to strike like a dagger

The great night’s storm won't go away;
Causing this phenomenon to enravel today
Leaving its fingerprint on display
Letting the world know who to blame  

One by one, they pray for the storm to pass
But the storm always finds its way back
Back stronger than ever and ready to attack
Seeming like the world in on a precarious track    

The birds intend to go south
Only to realize they are headed north from their seasonal oust
For they had no sense of direction
Due to the north being the warm south's reflection

Leaving the world in some kind of dystopian imperfection
Driving the polar bears near to extinction
Day by day, ice melts into water with sorrowful sighs
Just as water is tainted from mankind's mines

Exchanging the atmosphere for oil
Making the corruption seem like soil
Allowing the planet to get rotten and spoil
Leaving mother nature torn and toil

For this is not the final stop;
The days of final destruction are approaching;
The days of final destruction are approaching.

Maybe, instead of walls,
I should build a museum around my heart.
Maybe they’d rather respect the velvet rope
that separates them and the artwork.
Maybe if it was inside a museum,
it would be left alone
by those who don’t see its worth.
If people actually saw how precious it was,
they’d choose to stare at it in awe,
than dare to reach for it,
knowing that careless moves
lead to expensive consequences.
Maybe if it was inside a museum,
only those who truly wanted to,
only those with the soul to seek for something more
would line up to see it up close.

Because it’s true.
My heart is nothing short of a masterpiece.
Like a sculpture fashioned to look like silk
when it is built in stone.
Like a mosaic made with pieces of itself,
rearranged to create an image of hope
each time it gets broken.
My heart keeps record of histories
of pain and despair
of love and strength.
I cannot let it hang on the walls of some ignorant billionaire,
can’t let it be taken for granted again.
So, I will build a museum around my heart.
And unless you do not realize what it is worth,
please don’t touch the artwork.

Then you come back after a long road home
It is winter time
looking gorgeous, outstanding female
wearing a chivalrous black outfit
with a wavy black hair, smells as wild flowers
A wooly pink flower scarf around your long neck
adds kindness to the cold
Now you think of having a partner but
there wouldn't be one for you are wearing a chivalrous black outfit
standing on your solitary sturdy feet
It suits you

Everyone is just another flower at heart....
After all, being another flower from everyone else, gives you the most pleasurable specifics in the right place...when you only feel tolerated enough to advance your very cause into the next adventure (that is truly within the smell of the pollen that perfumes the petal like a fragrance that isn't tolerated in it's own self properly). Even when truthfully...it's all about the smell that directs that very such advancing cause forward into the next district of measurable causes (when and only when), you have become finally advanced enough to truly (now and forevermore) surpass the very self (that you once were, only just a few seconds ago, depending on a flowers perception of time itself). Then forecasts it's own weighing measures into even (the next distract of measurable causes) that combines together an even more stronger fragrance that balances correctly, (when and only when) things truly become one with one another.
In any case, those very pleasurable specifics become the very documentary of a flower becoming just... "Another flower."
But is such terms or pleasant metaphors enough for this very emotional written appeals the very abstract piece one is even wanting to read, or even take the time to truly focus on (by concentration, alone)?
Flowers at the end of the day, don't mask their own intentions (when their own petals start falling, because of aging regrets).
It's more of the very already (possible) defining examples that don't let the petals (with emotional appealing problems) that just don't know how to show themselves, properly. After all, when petals fall from a flower, it's probably because they have yet to show their own hidden beauty.
In essence, when you shed the petals, it isn't of the very cause for when seasons change and flowers go to sleep, or end their own lifecycle with the changing of seasonal tides, or even potentially becoming plucked clean by an enforcer at large who see's flowers ugly (because they see themselves as nothing but useless opportunities at large)!
Regardless, when another flower does this, it's because the very first impression comes off as the obvious spectacle of someone hiding their own shame away, for the oncoming tide of self-insecurities that don't give them the very such "open-minded" source needed for the very availability of shooting forward and simply coming out for being who you want too be....
And that is not of just being another flower... But more the result of a flower changing her own ins and outs for being the very tolerant of their own attitude and behavioral willpower at large.
Whatever happens, nothing can prepare (for what just another flower truly is), is for them to be in the very safe regarding hands of their own potentially past self-ridiculing of oneself.
When and only when, those very petals that you have spread your own fragrance (in the form of beautiful pheromones).
Those very same petals will begin again.
Reattaching itself, accordingly.
And then reversing time (as if looking back at a film roll of many sequence of events) that may help you into reversing your own perspective (with time, that is).
In the end, what you really thought was a big deal (once...) Became the very maneuvering ability where you are now ready to begin re-growing those fragile, (yet strong willed) petals at heart.

Space Case is not the advertisement for fear of losing yourself to the very darkness that is blanking out from normal reality and heading into a newer reality, (from which only your own psyche can fictitiously acknowledge, properly).
However way you spin the wonderous find of the gap in your own little sub-space (that is your own even tinier different types of psychological roundabouts...)
Nothing is truly centered in the very lucky situations, where each newly realized predicament isn’t as endearing as you'd first realize them to be.
Carrying out the struggle for the circumstance, that is one's own disembodied state, where such lucky situations...go completely dark!
Now, what's the first ideal of a space case.... Nothing more than what you haven't already knew from before you lost your very first contact with reality.
Since after all, your newly realized ideology is ("reality central") itself!
Things become slightly corrupt when reality central takes center stage, because you have no such management on this sort of (now newly put together source).
It's almost as if you've been entirely thrown into a newer source of energy, that only you and you alone, can bring yourself back out from, (via "your own little reality" itself).
And when your own psyche can once again, fictitiously acknowledge properly, then everything starts to take many tumbles (just so it can reorganize itself back into its original form). Coming directly from the very agreement from its own previous ideals and impressions upon a perspective that danced a little too much), when becoming stuck between two sources of familiar energy sources that signatures the very voice of concern, (or even a voice of caution).
Where everything starts to begin spiraling out of control!
But there's no chaotic tendencies, when consequences become the newer mortality rate...that this very circumstance provides the very presently disturbed predicament that still surrounds itself with such disbelief) over something so sudden, immediate, and radically unexpected!
But that's life, after all. And you can't control what goes on (outside of your own mind's eye). When you truly control what goes on from deep within the very inside itself.
Lastly, what goes around, comes straight on back around...when it truly becomes this scenario (upon many sequences after sequences) that enable you (once again), to hitch up a ride with the very sudden, immediate and radically unexpected realization of such a, well...
Let's pretend (for ONLY just a single moment, before it slips into its own dream sequence or improbable dreamscape, where nothing truly "healthy wise", comes back from that)?!
Which then delivers a type of pressure-free release into (the very such now incredible acknowledgement) of officially knowing that everything that had just built-up (over time) towards this very point in time...
Is nothing more than the ever-lasting, ever-increasingly and never-ending spectacle...of a simulation for "abrupt flaws"!
Because when it comes to such a slithering snake, that is a simulation for abrupt flaws....
Everything begins blurring out of sync!
Then begins distorting the very outside world, as if it was merely a mirage (without "self-acceptance" in itself)!
And when everything completely comes to the very turning point that is fusing together this perfect little bundle of "incomprehensible" joy.
This is when things collapse into a radically self-inducement scenario, where the "head case" (that you once were, on the outside world).
Now officially becomes the newly established Space Case! (Full of primary self-doting commands and actions that consequently, don't fit perfectly in the outside world.
When it was truthfully all about the head case that was meant to evolve into the space case all along.)
"Reality Central" is (as yet again), back up and running!
Begin your newer reality, my friends....
If you’re not already slipping back on into your own such fictitious beliefs again?
When you’re really not accepting the outside world for what it really is. (Except, that's blasphemy!
Only when you don't simply accept your own ideals from within your own heart.)

They once said that "a piece of cake, is a slice at the beginning your life"...
But is that even true...at the very most end of the spectrum, from which your heart beckons too the very mind that surpluses the very objects (from which is can't find itself in the mess of truthful results), that begin to truly shame the result of even trying to piece things together, time after time...?
NO!
Which are exactly why things don't need to be remembered from right off the bat.
That's because a piece of cake is the truthfully defining reach from which we can't solve the very most bottom remedy from straight out from under our very heartstrings. Heartstrings in the very form of how our very life began. When you were too busy fighting objections too win over your very mind's eye (at the very center of opportunity itself)!
Basically, the very end results, begin with a single fraction of those very "to-do" list heartstrings...that don't truly account for the most interesting of logical finds. Simply put, it literally calls forth (the very claim of one's own arrival) at the very hands of remembering what it was truly like too live again!
Except, when you tasted the very cake that belonged deep in your own heart.
And a heart that is truly beginning anew, again. But with a twist, you see....
Nothing is really the same, after from which you taste this newly found piece of cake, that slices off one end of its own self...and disregards the rest, after the final aftertaste had reclaimed it's own glory.
This is mostly because you think you feel what the mind's eye REJECTS the claim like a chronic storm of results for the such displeasurable spectrum.
Now you know when you slice a piece of cake at the very end of one's own life, and take that slice at the very beginning newly found account...for it is a truly newer start at the very beginning of something entirely new.

Tasting pleasure is not my fault for one reason, and one reason...ONLY...! I am ecstasy itself! Ecstasy that is not within my own choice to choose from. I merely tether my own choice towards the pleasure I hope to tether towards my ecstasy as tasting it with pride. That's why I tend to fail sometimes when knowing it's my fault for who I am... But fail (all the same) to see through the lies of my very delusions tell me so, simply! I'm a failure to my own structural design! As I'm also a failure to my own choices among the same decision-making my actions enforce. As I'm not going to lie about such things, but... I don't truly want to taste the pleasures my own inner "ecstasy" demons want from me! They want to mutually **** me dry! Only for myself to last long enough by the hand that want's to be free of them...ALL! I want them to stay and torment me for the pleasure of such tastes! I want to devour my own inner "ecstasy" demons...for I HATE what I've become. (Triggering forevermore something I could NEVER control!) Not to mention the torment I pose upon myself and those very demons! I want respect where respect can't (ever again) be given, when I've eaten myself up long ago! This simple passage is a given guilt upon the makings of an apology that I could come to grips about getting it out there into the BIG BAD open world! Who would come to appreciate my suffering (first and foremost)? A curse that will spread like wildfire! Where in time...the whole world could forgive me for what I've done to myself, and to others. Since what this passage reeks of, is the after-effect of the incident that is clearly behind the scenes doing GOD KNOWS WHAT!