. . make no sound; reminded of the friends loved and left. all the shame to how the fates will rain on you. oh how the days will rain on you. when too much room with the blink of an eye, something surreal, and the paranoia runs deep till anxious at base of soul. lilting. i want to be in freedom now; i will not wait forever; i want to sing till Babylon falls. (somehow i can't get through) why would i lie for. what would i lie for? who could i lie for? all my friends are my enemies and all those secrets that can never die. a little obsessed with death? (but memory) HOWL, *******. (birds of prey that mock the night) oh you ghost i'm craving most; spontaneous breath.

dreamlike sea-swollen
hair; tossled-storms.
you'll ruin this marker.
you'll ruin this life.

. . love is shaped, like cities burning; tracing fingers, soot and ashes. (yeah, kinda like that) don't get high off the marker; ****, yeah, we got there through wasting a ****** addict's table.
(hope you ******* read this)
pain is as much coping as it is a distraction; let the **** go. you're not held near-high; you know this. you know; where and what are you? slanted text, and there was given too much effort; too much thought; too much this self. birds of prey that mock the night, blood-howling animals, and YOU ARE NO BEAST. through the darkness, through the night; obviate names from your learned-nature long before the thought of landing. this world made for ending; howl, *******.

. .  he claimed to be a grid-diver; always sinking before being noticed. claimed himself impressed at this vessel's soul-detachment. once learned, be effective when ready to vanish; when ready to oust self from, well, anything requiring absolute dispersion. now though, feeling, all the leaving has been wasted energy; has been a lesson. of futility through, always learning, but i cannot escape mirrored-judgement. i will always remain near-center, until a vessel's final wastings. we wander not forward with end sought in mind, yet still forward with appreciation in understanding death-in-form already reaches out to affect influence. once ego, death requitted this once infant with affection and no grand-stand when revoked or rebuked of eternity's place upon him. sent loose unto waiting-game, meant for to conquer Sun and Time; death-hands applauding selfish-sincerity. wasting a gracious gift of lifted finger, continue, found lacking in all sincerity while sweating nervous thought of interaction. now, to be more than, well, more so beyond an existential probability. giving up to what knows next, covered in ink, and syncing words below riptide and current, but ******* drowning the vessel shall always over-ride; always over-ride; always over-arrive and come on too strong.
then slip when rebuffed.

starting, this power that's been so very
missed; longing, staring, as instrument become
effigy. no one tried burning it, though. maybe
a stake pre-posted could have helped with
that; then again, people don't like to be told
where, and most importantly what, to burn in
ritual. some family traditions die hard, or more
so, don't die at all. much like turtles - figure it
out; that's some analaphor. (that's some mis-
pronunciation, huh) and, here's a little add-in:
time will find this half-sheet; something, some
intangible being means to an answer. I never
even posed a question; paradoxical. You kept
me aware when a trip went a little too hard.
i have a timidness when thought turns to losing
this vessel. i'll ******* lose it someday, of course,
mind the blind; there, worlds not shined. hasn't
been but their static for some time. work from
the bottom once more; a henge of stones named
a pyramid - that thought crashed, but a quick
wit could bring us back around to the topic of
catacombs. but, nope. nothing.

you are here, now; present and attentive.
blood-tipped pen, to scrawl some paragraph to
give feel of absence. wait, wait, dropped it.
    you are here, now; present and attentive. come
back to that character left to be narrated. (whole
third-person sorta thing.
    you've let to want for a time now. let to a time far outstretched by
initial understanding, or even seen at beginning
doctrination for assistance in hibernation.
    a winter where start; three come-to-gone in pace.

these writings
continued tho-
ught on ident-
ity. in hiding
i had grown -
one side of the
footfalls may -
though hope not -
fall on another's path.
i must go alone, my
writing, found broken
lines, found blurry thought.
awaken. this Reality is to write
the Void; some Muse of Nothingness.

returning with response;
returned are the sounds
of Daytimers,
reluctant to rest -
that droning mechanical
metronome,
and voices staccatoed.
what words follow?
(any more resin?)
and, here we ******* are,
with a *******
adventure - when
were so many projects
started? no stupidity,
foreseen mistakes diverted -
averted; reverted;
           perverted?
       (rhyming of the introverted)