an undying belief in so much more // one day the sun will become the sky
a child arose once left upon the lawn, like he wandered but was never found the counting riffs like he were waiting for the end blatently disregard the ghosts and see if he can go on without it. lay upon me these troubles—i can handle it.
if the layers are to be seen with any clarity we have to go deeper into this sin, the dynamics are at an all-time-high fail all the fates with me as we drown. it'll be a spectacle, for sure.
please bless me as i wade into the wastes, that my steps be covered with forethought or a radical nature ensues and blemishes this tarnishment further, like the winds split the hairs in half and quelled the silent to speech. once lay upon me, these troubles—I can handle it
with great indulgence that i finally spoke, with a great fury did i beacon the gods like they were absent, they knew i was the foolsayer but these words must be said, i cannot expel them from my mouth quickly enough nor let the dawn tread upon us before we understand, let the fortune spill forth into another day.
a child arose once again left behind upon the lawn, with a lingering feeling of grand nothingness nor a placard any of truth, just a series of more and more convincing lies. how can one go through life with just a witness over the shoulder to spare, won't you see it with your own eyes and witness —i've been begging you. lay upon me these troubles, i can handle it.
the mysterious cavern blares a strange tune like the wakes of sense were left on some other planet, the brain pulsates with over-stimulus, and I dance with the divine or maybe the profane —I cannot tell.
will the omens phase through or become ether already, i have grown impatient of ourself of late, can we please change again?
***
a delicate choice became upon me, the layers unraveled finally aghasting me with the truth a spectre leavened with the cores of all of us meagerly spectating as the lyres die upon these our layered fortunes. like we never had a choice... (03-19-23—Hi. I’m a weird poetic type of person. I occasionally come up with tremendous phrasings or a clever way to word something every so often. Everything I’ve ever written was composed to Music. I’d like to think it was all a fluke. Don’t Listen To Me.) (Syntax and Shit!? what happens when you start to edit the Stream of Consciousness?...)
