J. M. Berrie
is the greatest
horror playwright
in history

because
he wrote
the truth.

Neverland
is a dream.

And I just woke up

Spending cold winter days indoors,
I boil milk on a stove
to warm my stomachs
my hands clutched tight
around a hot mug

a restless urge to wander
and I find myself in the
snow covered garden

where I eat berrie,s recklessly
with little care as if
they are poisonous

self destruction is
inherent in me,
I go of on a whim
sometimes, a wild
wind of despair

I do not want to be
this cold, but there are
no flames hot enough
to thaw out the ice

that runs like
a spike through
my heart

jist of the pencil ontoward stencile fare im the dented pair
my eyes illuminate chizzled chairs as i sit and and stare
imma missionare with a wepon i dont get to share not usually
usin me brute gotta few screws to bleed its human see got
cheddar from a drop now im livin off cresining slots
guess its all about the hue ive not wanted to fume aloft
confuse the cost of a few to drip im askew as often i think
every second wondering how ive brought these words
to scene im a bird of bees what a cur to bring upsure
thats a word id sing if i ever get the chance to bleed out
im dancin free now with a lance at feet such a standard
fee up on the cran of berrie share with me your dreams
ive had an opal tell me it could see inside the hazels
i placed it in those stables wrote a book about the fable
now im thoughtless wrong on the jot get craw fished
couple dotted on the map with a lapse in the lisps actin
amiss never ona matress stackin those fists jack hit the
wrist hard whole arms just a bit scared never saw it
then it came in a scream i was aimed at the tree forrest
here to be so flourish i suppose im morbid listening
what a **** on the mill never knew me to be real i suppose
cause i aint gonna pose id rather go ghost so im super
striffle in the iffle of a glow holy show down comin
through the snow town feel it like a mode now i could
spit a sow wit stable as a hit able bit taken from kid
shame i slipped aim why to miss dame **** you did
imma sickness you cant rid is that for hidden messages
on your skype gettin medicines definite the media
needs an epipen its eprinefrine thats contenteded with
place a bottle on the box then i bent the slick severed
mentions of contorments ona flounder roundin hords
ima sore sword flowin more coarse than a shores chores
cords how you ploy when im four force for course of
action combat the blackened strip upon my faction

So, in conclusion.
The captain decides who boards the ship.
Members aboard have to deal with the time spent breathing on a ship with...nakama.
Marines hop from ship to ship. I guess they put their hope in ship to ship.
Regardless, it's why they oppose us.
Our ideals.
Our operations.
Us.
Me.
Honestly, the sea is the sea. But people floating around me can't see. At least they perceive what need they believe.
But they do this upon the sea.
Hence, the sea is the sea.
Theus theory.
We need to breathe through mist, among other things.
Risks and other means.
To achieve being greater beings.
But it's okay not to reach these things.
As okay as your captain lives.
If he's okay with it, then let me believe.
In the option he receives... received.
I believe, I believe...
The AI would lead me to think.
I believe that i can be the captain I follow.
The captain who carries his past in hallow fragments where it shifts and borrows future estrangments to present arrangements
Whoa.
Maybe not estranged but rearranged into a casket of pure simple tamed dimples with silent whispers.
The problem : I talk.
After that, name baring, fear declaring, clear shattering, rear factored in sphere matter, and it appears that it'd peer shatter if they speak clatter neglecting clear factor's my fear is in the latter. But...what should matter if the kids don't matter?
I'm just saying that a generation is chasing the shape of Cleo Petra
And we can't be a certain guy with a sword.
Maybe he had a point in burning the books.
Maybe he had a point in falling in love.
Maybe he came from far and realized sometimes you need to stop things from peeling apart.
Through thorns and wrath.
Through an excruciating path.
You need to get to where it's art.
A land where the sea might part.
Two realities where life found a start.
I miss the sea more than i thought i would.
Being a pirate is more in the plot than it should.
Please don't let me be Misunderstood.
I only mean you have to get by doing what you can because you should.
Today's times prove that humans aren't all good.
In the media and...well, where they aren't good.
I wonder what my ancestors would say.
How they would feel.
What they'd see, when they see what's become of me.
Wait. What's the best way to give honor to history.
Without noting the misery in mysteries buried under history's nefarious missing delegates.
Never mind them, people's parents and...societal comparisons to superheroes with their caring emotional variants.
Making villains prepared for causing more emotional worse for wear.
Well, I'm under prepared.
A little bit scared. And over prepared for dares that come with... welll... assumptions for something better than for now.
As i clear and plow.
Sew seeds in a vow.
So respectfully, if the bulletproof vest is me, then I'm definitely sitting in the back, you'll see, protecting what rests with me when i breathe through peace's Symphony.
You know...to the sky, we're all standing upside down.
Clouds see right through the smiles finding frowns.
It really is a brighter day when the clouds don't make a sound.