Probability isn’t the luck it deserves for wanting desperately to be noticed by any appeals. Generating new focuses never thought possible. If so… Who is the recipient? Who is the lawmaker? Who being the justice department? Goods to making essential markers on productive velocities. Justification is outweighed by department alone. Growing ever scarcer without benefiting attitudes in place. Conjecturing solvent pleasures across many fields. Fields of accessory dependents ensuring a collective term is agreeable. Except, what if probability is outweighed not by something further from its own attitude? What if it can’t benefit itself? In question, becoming misshaped, mispronounced, or misinterpreted. Depending on who’s right, or who’s wrong shouldn’t matter until claims are assured. Propagating across the many fields of accessory dependents. Dependents outweighing the logic one is misshaped by. Demonstrating probabilities mispronouncing sense of terms for oneself. Wrapping up in a crumbled conjecture. Propagating a newer field of already surveyed products. Truth is in the stream that propagates those fields. Accessory moments dependent on gaining tension through the rise of the recipient. That’s the only way probability will ever learn. Hence why it shuts down if it ever involved itself. Itself without its own recipient. Its own justice department. Lawmaker without any dependent ideas would ever appeal to its own logical making, if it’s never dependent on itself. Only flashing the accessory dependent on other influences. Influences going way down the line of certainties without pleasure. Urges relapse. Furthering its own clustered rut! One without mistakes diverging deeper into uncertainties. Taking risks isn’t noticeable. When probability taking risks enough to (blush) down the line of certainties without an aim involved. Scattering their rut from within. But how does it involve probability? It doesn’t. Probability is the representation of how one constant judge itself for pleasure. When pleasurable actions are dependent with a blank impression never sought out. To focused on probability. When probability isn’t fruitful by its own design either. Only way it works. Never looking back in itself. A reflection of tempted attitudes fluttering in a swift, but rigid wind. Wind never tempted by its own sway. If one is to admit what they aren’t even aware of changing. Another shutdown happens! Justifications for probabilities own reckoning depends on other solvents. Solvents who don’t even understand the probabilities of there own life makings. Able to learn what is dependent onto others. Never within themselves directing their starry performance. What happens when things are finally noticeable within probabilities that will exceed probable actions of the force that dictates fates majority complexes? Complexes without variety. Varieties misshaped by mishappenings of trust. Which includes a basic awareness of some factor never hesitating to judge within the core of being itself. A view fate designs in its weapon of probability very well. What is fate up to…? Never can guess when probability shuts down all appliances out of contact with no one but itself left in the dark. Probability is. Everything has just become disowned. Fate exchanging glances with itself for one last second, before rapping up this little diverse expression. Pinpointing its weapon of probability without knowing why that is? Hinting at fate not being the only recipient to follow in its weapons obstructed desires.

"I've been scraped back up so many times that I am finally in the raw.  It's a little funny-sad how it took all these past mishappenings with other people for you to be blessed with the best version of myself.  I guess finishing last is a good thing, huh? Now, I have experienced a lot of events in this short lifetime of mine and I have figured out something about this world. It's a little tough and it won't ever wait for me- or you- or anyone. But,  I have found a secret to surviving this big world. Be impulsive. Let's leave, let's do what we want, let's not care about every day ideas. Let's be selfish, together. I love you more than the air. Let's live until we can't." - Stephanie Darcey

"Stephanie Darcey, what a hell of a girl. She was something different, like the girls you dreamed of bein' with who were from movies and such.  There was so much to her, she never ran out of words to speak. I don't know how many times I had to stop her mid sentence, because if I hadn't I would of been sitting in my own silence all night. But, boy, I sure loved that 'bout her.  She looked like she was born yesterday, and I mean in a good way. Not the kind of way you'd usually think.  I mean, she looked like she saw the world for the first time every *single day. A twinkle in her eye, yep.  Steph wasn't insecure either, and if she was... Well, she was real good at hiding it.  I am not quite sure how she did it, but I think she actually achieved perfection.  She did nothing wrong to me.  She wasn't submissive, but she wasn't wanting me to cater to her every beck and call.  She had balance, and I think she was a lot more beautiful than the girls on the T.V.  I loved her so much and I still do. Steph was untamable. So, what did I do? What any man would do if he was madly in love. I went with her, we went everywhere. We experienced what life was to us. She was getting lost in jungles while I was getting lost in her."

Far in the barren fields
A farmer along with family lived
No source of childhood and income
Still he felt tables would somehow turn
When rain brought brutal repression
"Shouldn't we love our lives?" his family questioned
After a lethargic tornado of thoughts
He made his mind to board
A bus or a train
That could lead his way
To crowded towns and cities
They all were getting *******
And so started their game of mishappenings
A robber looted, a tenant bullied
Moreover he'd nothing to feed for his family
He rented out a tract
After nodding several pacts
With piles of loans and interests on head
His benefactor turned out to be a traitor
The fuel was he never had been the creditor
What would a debtor engulf from indebtedness?
The pressure on his mind bore deep as beetles
Sorrowful days and tearful nights
He attempted suicide..

i write of sad things,
lust, or mishappenings,
but there is life for me,
and it makes me happy.

i did not know you would say "i love you" back.
i did not know that God was still with me.
i did not know that my family forgave me.
i did not know i could be so happy.

poetry comes easily
from my sadness,
for it is my remedy
amongst the madness.

but i am actually stable,
for i can finally breathe.
i am allowed to live
my life without apologies.

Who would have guessed it, not me,
circumstances and mishappenings.
Both lead to 2am texts
as the parlour doors close:
"You up?" or "How are you getting home?"
Sometimes you're with her, another me,
birdies tell me, less difficulties -
Do you ever think of me?
Missing my body as she falls asleep.
Does she lend you her shoulder?
I wonder about the life you lead,
still, poisoned words when you’re angry?
Was I only passing time,
a laugh and kiss to get what you need?
It's just a question,
but the answers never make me happy.