first time for sun on
the west north west,
first time for hope
the street filling,
the asking donations,
and yet i found clay
this monning
in the car
heated
it molds easy.
I hav enothing to say the rumors of excistance shifting thorugh.. the anger at relations becasue i am alone to qwuek what i wont say in reality, here to freely shed the ways of ediquette when it is just to touch,, and never worry.. she will someday never come back and i let myself pretend .. other wise. the stars alined. so in glorious.
i can not even , face the reason for intimacy,, a desisive lier i am ,, such that to myself i lie,, it is a way of not being mad,, like an animal. not screeching into the bezzy of incontroversial accounts and predestineation. for acitons behind the secrets are lies sometimes to the now. and i have always denied I write fiction.. for each try ends up a crumbled mess.. and only the illusion really wants to , yet that is what an ego is.. and determined to get its way if it has to drag the rest of the cells with it..
Cells.
funny how the prison alight a reasoning.. I am made of cell.. i am cold soul-d.i might have made plstice models for a living, if once was , would have.. in the remembrance of idealism.. its plastic dolls head over there behind journalistic integrity, a rumor in a bar. or hope in a crowed room. the burn lasting on its mouth since it was fed a sauder gun, to represent retailation and combat. the simple use of fire.. formed plastic forever to stare.
