Stinging with rage! The skeleton would say. Not figuring out anything if never having layers is a good thing. Why must I have an upkeep in social deficiencies, if I can’t learn myself enough? The skeleton contemplated extensively. I’m too gray! Too…Tooooo… Poised! Being poised is a dampening effect. One revolutionizing logic without circumstance. Circumstance without valid reasons to erupt circumstantial balance. Deeming to involve constraints upon your own systems processes. Strife filling into those processes. Putting a bony skeletal hand to its bony chin. I’m a skeleton. I’m all strife! My bones don’t just sting. They rust! RUST!!! It said yelling with two skeletal arms moving clenching bony fists in the air. Try having rusted edges without completing desirable functions! Releasing edges without rust involved. I move one step, and SNAP! OOPS! Edges be screaming my velocities down the rut! Velocities pit my joints moving with other joints in an unbalanced poised expression. Poised is great. Having good flexible positions in the making. Except for the fact I sent the rusted edges. Which once again, is a catch of being too POISED! Maybe I should have asked for layers when wanting to become poised? But without favor. Favor of not having to worry about any deficiencies. Self deficiencies? It said opening it’s mouth wide. More like social deficiencies! I can’t go anywhere feeling my form is off completely! Skeletal arms in the air while staring up into the atmosphere. Mouth still open wide. What do I DOOOOO???!!! All the sudden, the skeletons stinging edges started to rust more. Huh?! Looking down at its skeletal body. Surprised and a little alarmed. The skeleton notices it wasn’t thinking. Since you sometimes don’t realize you just started thinking without one’s volition. The rusted edges were thinking. Or something sizzling with charisma? Charisma with claim, purpose, and factual statements. I don’t, UHHHHHHHH!!! Pausing deeply. Feeling something burn with rage! The stinging…! It’s getting more intense. I-I, I can’t stop myself from feeling it too much! It wants to envelope me. Wait? The skeleton stops. The stinging stopped all together. Not feeling the burning rage anymore. Whoa! Weird. W-what just happened? Sizzling effort of rust kept on thinking with sizzling charisma. OHHH! I get it now. The skeleton retracting its movements back to its original posture. I’m freaking out! Calling for what it seems to be. I’m detracting my own surface from its original desire. Bony hand against its chin. A claim without focus. The skeleton snaps it’s bony fingers. Feeling the sting rupture between rusted joints sizzling with claim, purpose, and factual statements. Away from the thinking. The skeleton seeing it’s joints become more flexible as two of it’s bony finger tips made contact with one another. Seeing is believing after all. It said smiling wide. Feeling the rusted edges absorb it’s smile into it’s thinking base. More stinging raised multiple alarms along the entire bone structure. The skeleton shook violently! Not feeling despair, concern or fear. But warmth. Warmth giving it an excitability it never sought out before. Probably because it never had to. Until now. I think my social deficiencies will start disappearing now. Feeling calmer. Along with my perfect poise that only existed in this bone structuring stage. I’m awaiting something newer. More affordable now that I’m beginning to understand.

Not restricted by it. Only restricted by it’s tame. Bright and vigorous! Tempting to be better than a dying phase. Light prompting the taming call of its energy. Becoming more vibrant. Conclusive to it’s claims. Parting ways without mentioning why dying light is its fate. Being tamed. Tempting to hold dear energy supplies for it’s withering gaze. Prompting to feel (it shouldn’t matter). Am I wanting to become more of a spectacle, or something?! I’m a dying light. Not the uptick in brighter horizons. Just the low dimming effect of a once broader frequency. Detesting the restrictions altogether. Nothing better to accept one’s fate. Rather then battling one thinking that (holding on, is a miracle). No! It’s a natural death sentence. And I’ll gladly pay it! If it means I get to be myself again. Dying light pays respects to its own slurring pause. I seeee…I seeeeeee… IIII…seeeeeeeee!!! I’m causing my own fate. Feeling the tame of its restrictions falling off. Like chains buckled to every brightened photon in the complex. Bright and vigorous! Just like last time. This was different. A struggle thinking (what isn’t a self damaging effect)? But a structure of succession! Never temping my dying phase. Which is smarter then accepting varieties. The slurring pause was no more. Restrictions were no more. I am dying light. And I will shine on other broken lights losing their light in self-deluded stages.

A conundrum that can't be tested, even how hard you try to exercise every specific. Just ail parts on a spinning axis with no conclusion! The conclusion to test the bewildered expression of pieces without there own thoughts. Feelings resort to compassion. Excluding the taste all together. It’s messy how something exists, which has no theme to what they are, and how one is tested. Tested to take your parts and find some commonality with more existing parts that urge the taste of compassion. A taste with its sense of propriety. Justification to mount moral terms with oneself. Oneself can’t tell itself apart. Only pieces trying to organize itself while spinning their connections down the rut! Permanent desire to fetch them out of the phase that’s established its original premise. Originality has no qualms with the likes of compassion. Setting up without any discernible corrections. Meant for outsiders within themselves to judge, plan, and exercise, without mercy to anything but oneself. Spinning axis burns desires upon urges that breakdown over time. The spinning pace doesn’t stop, until you stop and learn what truly is happening. Pieces remain in the rut. The rut full of many spread out phases too much to take in all at once. Plans don’t go to your agreement. Something outside oneself has yet to appreciate yourself, and what you have to offer. Except how does one do that when many pieces are too spread out for one to notice? Every specific is already radiating like a charged particle. Charging too much friction between one another. Trying not to lose one another in the constant spin of irony. Irony devoted without practice. Practice makes time for oneself to finally notice the originality of its premise isn’t truly spinning on its axis. It’s actually strolling for one’s interpretations to finally notice its static charge. The different pieces are holding on. Fetching the obvious back into circulation. Circulation outmatched not by itself. But by perception of a fully established sense of self.

Flowers dry up when there not impressed with themselves. Withering back down below depths of uncertainty. Prompting joy that shouldn't exist. Commenting on a bigger structure that is not from within. It's around them. Circumventing proudly for all to see. If you aren't impressed with yourself. Then how will you bloom again for all to see?

One story may change the world someday. One that will revolutionize the steady constants of how everyday aspects judges itself too harshly. Never finding the solve of anti pressure release syndromes. Plot is plot. Ideas are always outspoken. Even if one or the other hasn’t agreed. Won’t change the facts given to the recipient who may have already judged the opposing two. Without running through what they have already been about. Futuristic plot devices aren’t important. As it may not even exist. Storytelling being a futuristic realization to knowing something before it happens. Feelings clawing thought processes. Thought processes trying to equalize the incoming rush of emotions that rise and fall. Feelings being a different breed centered in the middle of the steady constant. Revolutionizing what you already know. Blind to see it through. Thought processes aren’t too judging. Except when you start to trust feelings too much. A jealous implication arises. Knowing what you already know before it happens. Is no different then how one already figured it out. Feelings handle it with care. Thought processes stuck in the mud. A puppy without any directional skills. A master never telling its true flaws if it couldn’t understand itself to begin with. Jealousy is rising even more. A fixed implication is becoming more dominant. Revolutionizing the main flaw more and more. Nothing is without equal if you never give it a chance. Feeling the way through all the clutter. Clutter not being your fault. You were molded by the pressure of what storytelling has made you into. Plot devices center these focuses without thinking outside itself. Your only to blame, when subjects apart of your judging becomes too sterile for you to notice anymore. Drying out the process of trusting something with care. Becoming one who is blind to never looking outside itself again! Becoming the stick in the mud. How does one avoid? Easy! Storytelling being a futuristic realization! PS… Don’t claim what you already know!

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.