A servant to myself. Madness.. the great divide between my bones. As wide as canyons sometimes I could swear it. The bowling ball that sits and swivels, sometimes telescopes, occupies the golf tee that sits between my shoulders. Giants should carry this frame so I dont have to travel, shift it perhaps, one enormous, momentous walk off the Earth. Snapping the twigs. harmony of cracked cellulose. The striking force of all and nothing. silence would be deafening Wrap over the barrels. I’ve spent my time, I’d come back for you You see the world in depth from the watch tower. 

If I took the angle, photographed every bone, reassembled, then stapled. Illuminated darkness and white spaces, decanted the aches, the displaced disparity then there would be a glimmer.

How do we become mates when we have nothing, expect bloody knuckles a wholes in the walls, expectations that will never be met? Hands that only shake with the unknown or those with MD? 
When we fire a haze bullets that are invisible to many and 

Another day dispersed, how do i assemble before dawn. 

See a Buddha on the Road kill it. Truth. See a MD on the Road, Sedate it, Contain it, ITO, Brain wash it, deprive it of all its liberties and tell it everything that they know is wrong, make it live for a a certain amount of time like this AND THEN KILL IT. – A work in progress. 

No person wants to be told how to live, or what they are thinking.. we are all ok. It’s like telling someone to gah. To turn the oxygen off on the trees. 

Stars. Fucking nothing and everything and – energy. SUPANOVAS!
We are what we are until we expire. Except it and move on.

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