Untitled
For: Reader,
(Note: The subject of this letter has in fact lost their mind…and doesn’t have a map to find it again.)
**If you have simply come upon this script simply walking through my naked home (Breaking and entering.)
While your eyes widen in pure horror at the scenes that appear before them.
Then I suggest you spin your curious body around and continue back the way you came.
BUT, if you are the thick headed and rebellious type of person…
PLEASE! Oh PLEASE! Continue trekking further into my personal hell?
…
Well, now that you have either:
-A- Stayed in my house and are now walking forward with an awkward look filling your beady eyes.
-B- Kept perfectly still and haven’t move any inch of your mass excluding your eyes which are now scanning frantically across the page at these scribbled words.
-C- Scampered cowardly to the outside where you think you are safe and are now only reading further because you are only curious enough to read what has happened…not witness what is going to happen.
Now that we have that cleared up…let us continue?**
-Listening to what I thought would be words from a perspective much like my own.-
Hostages to be forever condemned to many walls plus exists, with no escape or refugees.
Surrounded by what seems to be isoelectric beings that only need a single desire to press forward,
toward the only survivors that may be their patrons that, yet choose against the inventive idea.
Minced emotions, battered and torn around the edges of the worn out secret keeper.
Being shot through with paper Mache bullets too keep from wounding but to hold up bruising.
A born wheeler,
has just entangled themselves up in the sketchy and indignant worries.
Those ripen within the schizophrenic brain waves.
Hallucinations spiraled downward.
Only to unbalance the steady feet that rest softly on the barren soil.
Forcing a gust of reality to misbehave the subtle pacing.
An insonyet was traced cautiously between the two,
irregular beating hearts.
All the things the day is too small to hold,
usually spills into the next.
But what happens when the days run out?
Are you not able to finish what you started?
I’m walking through these grimy streets.
And the sidewalks are watching me think about you.
I feel segregated to be with everyone,
but the only one I wish I was drowning with,
then regretfully saved under force to breath.
My chest feels as listed:
-crippled stone and sedimentary that has failed to provide protection.
-a chokehold only a tad too strong to be yours.
-scaling a fifty foot building where you hold your breath in fear of slipping because you know it was a dangerous idea to inflict upon yourself the time of death, because you wanted to die when they did so it was a fair and unpredictable situation.
I think they shop lift
Some Christmas gifts…?
(I realized halfway down the road that the path I refused to take earlier is probably the path that I should be on.)
With Fondness: Author
(Note: The subject of this letter has in fact lost their mind…and doesn’t have a map to find it again.)
**If you have simply come upon this script simply walking through my naked home (Breaking and entering.)
While your eyes widen in pure horror at the scenes that appear before them.
Then I suggest you spin your curious body around and continue back the way you came.
BUT, if you are the thick headed and rebellious type of person…
PLEASE! Oh PLEASE! Continue trekking further into my personal hell?
…
Well, now that you have either:
-A- Stayed in my house and are now walking forward with an awkward look filling your beady eyes.
-B- Kept perfectly still and haven’t move any inch of your mass excluding your eyes which are now scanning frantically across the page at these scribbled words.
-C- Scampered cowardly to the outside where you think you are safe and are now only reading further because you are only curious enough to read what has happened…not witness what is going to happen.
Now that we have that cleared up…let us continue?**
-Listening to what I thought would be words from a perspective much like my own.-
Hostages to be forever condemned to many walls plus exists, with no escape or refugees.
Surrounded by what seems to be isoelectric beings that only need a single desire to press forward,
toward the only survivors that may be their patrons that, yet choose against the inventive idea.
Minced emotions, battered and torn around the edges of the worn out secret keeper.
Being shot through with paper Mache bullets too keep from wounding but to hold up bruising.
A born wheeler,
has just entangled themselves up in the sketchy and indignant worries.
Those ripen within the schizophrenic brain waves.
Hallucinations spiraled downward.
Only to unbalance the steady feet that rest softly on the barren soil.
Forcing a gust of reality to misbehave the subtle pacing.
An insonyet was traced cautiously between the two,
irregular beating hearts.
All the things the day is too small to hold,
usually spills into the next.
But what happens when the days run out?
Are you not able to finish what you started?
I’m walking through these grimy streets.
And the sidewalks are watching me think about you.
I feel segregated to be with everyone,
but the only one I wish I was drowning with,
then regretfully saved under force to breath.
My chest feels as listed:
-crippled stone and sedimentary that has failed to provide protection.
-a chokehold only a tad too strong to be yours.
-scaling a fifty foot building where you hold your breath in fear of slipping because you know it was a dangerous idea to inflict upon yourself the time of death, because you wanted to die when they did so it was a fair and unpredictable situation.
I think they shop lift
Some Christmas gifts…?
(I realized halfway down the road that the path I refused to take earlier is probably the path that I should be on.)
With Fondness: Author