To shake dust from my pretty child i must mystify minds while, molding pre-paved tile patios: give the sheep’s pen a four wall construct A-RISE above the morphic and bellow, to comfort the feet.
Im stabbing quarters into my activation plate’s extra exhaust to ignite something. Spit some carbon –
Manic moments, move a myles like me to the metaphysical mirror. And it is not this one that reflects, but to the duties my appendages embody i – lack expects. Do due – Respect. to this Chthonian carriages; my dermis quite the copy cat.
to say the body is made in the images of a cosmic titan is overly abstract. The big bang was an aftermath of a flatline,
“so whatchur telling me is that even the void gets tired?” (it says)
my guilt was relieved of its cage and given new duties.
Project itself on a man with open eyes searching for answers. Close that third mind and let them truths seep from the almost always clogged sinuses. Snore even.