writing, like feeling.
A leaf, spring breaks.Dawn flows. streams per, rustling .
Rushing down steam, onward, it's sound hurries mistily mystique.
Knowledge but the pretend of a learned mans descent on public census.
You'll bend to my will, stone, mesmerizing. Like a food so tempting and sumptuous.
And while you take upon your lips. Horrid, back of throat, blood taste, perception will behave without.
An you'll fade in to the back, as if I heard,tinkling thoughts from within. But you'll never know.
Dirt, foul, intensive, turned inside me. From whence you where,you'll never become.
Hurt inside, takes to the blood entrenched,streets,hollow hopeless, mottled green.
Obscene derivative. Words to not progress, nights temptress
And with this pretending souls, flee to one another.
Towards me without care. For paper wealth.
And as they do, the words dwindle.
All which is left sight.
Hand to break.
ME
