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.

for Marshall, the straightest arrow, that when airborne,
ebbs and flows, with air currents that take him to where he was intended to go*


Old Son

you call me that,
semi-factually correct.

though technically,
now an orphan.

perhaps
you meant,
old soul?

semi-factually correct.
the old part.

Proposition:
He is an Old Soul

the soul part,
t'is yet debated
back n' forth,
in the Senate of

every breath

every word

every stray thought.

numerous amendments
to the "bill" proposed,
but afraid of failure,
the sole sponsor of said
proposition,
does not call the House
"to order,"
for a final vote

the endless debate,
he pontificates,
is way too pleasurable....
and no passage, failure,
way too displeasurable,
a likely outcome

These nights are filled with fear.
Tormenting grins, sick displeasurable sins.
Oh, look another silent tear.
Pure dominance against frail figures,
fingers roam like they are at home.
Demanding hands gripping hips, thighs, anything in sight.
Always right there, never alone.
A future that is seemingly unclear
Tugging at every curve, silencing cries, punishing pleads.
Useless to fight...
Cruel shadows perpetually lurk near.
Planting a seed, making them scream until they bleed.
Skin so thin... it's rather sheer.
Pages flipped through like a book that wasn't meant to be read, at least not like this.
Being alive yet feeling as though they are dead.
Playing games, stealing worth, damaging minds.
It doesn't matter; For it's all the same through thy predators' eyes.

Staring from the mirror back,
The complex past, displeasurable fact
But things I no longer think to change.
Accepting, trying to mend the pain,
The exception, that I'm still hurting;
The source, still of that same vein.