My writing is reciprocally asinine through this new engraving elevation I have begun to write past the minds; ideas volatile ready to explode but I compose and continue to right past the mines; into another section more talented as it flows, I can now go back in time and re-scribe my own image re-flection. I can ride a kite; or even fly a bike; I mesh literary insanity together and spew out coherent plights; that the mass comprehend…and then endear to; I put my truest feelings in my writings so I am sincere too But then sin sears me I’ve been the poster child for pain; but when I put pen to pad I breathe and arise above thee insane; parts that dwell within me, one part kin one part the end-in-me; which in turn my enemy; nothing matters but words so if I die, this was the end of me. I’d let my health deteriorate and become unstably irate all for the dream to be know as the characterization of inscription or quiet simply A.k.A also known as “The great” Each time I create I go into another state, less homesick of the past so I continually elate; I debate myself if it is the time to broaden or to pace myself but I know in doing that I bait myself; for the time is now true infinity waits for all men; but impatient I am so because that defining moment rarely comes around again.
No comments:
Post a Comment