I
have an issue with reality this sunken ship this panting deer; those in-between
fragments or machineries so low the bowels of this earth; a sweet stem those
cloudberries our screams enveloped to sender; this seesaw existence those beige
papers while dingoes are vigilant and barking; a man at his prime so primitive
and enlightened at concerto sorrows. I bothered you with something apparent
where at times we are drug out of our slumber; those cutting projections as
never for question our faces confused by our stressors; as psychological
creatures loving untamed monsters where we lose our control; so patient with
you so baffled by you while I sense there isn’t a clue to work with; our
mid-skies those mid-dreams as something proven irregular.
I
have epic concerns this moth to flame those alligators feeling weather so raw
so slick as invasive creatures; our homes filtered our behaviors deliberate at
some undercurrent guidance; such drops of realism such family crises while a
bell rings and rounds ensue; but a man knowing this region but a soul unfound
and spectacular while wrenching agony tears his guts; our sick societies those
sickened screams while we knew behaviors were far too askew; as meeting those
months looking at different people and wondering if this is the designated
punch; so into a particular diagnoses or so contorted by a private need where
reality is harder to examine; this picture of you such radiant glory while
others are convoluting this scream; our resolved anger in a distant land while
this desert has become familiar; such blight and meadows or such sunshine and sorrow
where deep analyses accuses that thought weekly; as aggravated cylinders or
discharged intuition where reasoning through properties might tug peculiar interests;
those silent edgy seconds this fire so aloof where analyses culture something
imperceptible; our valleys irrigated our shadows painted by serenity while
relaxation seems so horrible.
A
hundred milligrams of potassium a short trip to this island and wrestling this empathy
for you; it clouds gardens it becomes ambiguity while violet sunrise is
etching; the rain is falling those birds are silent and a daughter believes in
this reality; such unbelieving moonbeams such metaphysical certainties while
anything contrary must be eliminated; but way over there an angel is watching
and her name resides in the Book of Life; this rescue from self this sudden
tsunami while one is absent from this village of images.
I
have an issue with reality where souls are concerned and three have totally
different resilience; this engine upon bricks this piano at large those muscles
to grain and brain to penalties; this loathed courtroom this reason to never
return where righteousness might ensue; and the hell with goodness and the hell
with a positive example for deep resistance means more than psychological healthiness;
those quirks mother has noticed while asking a dumb question where we need to
know where she learned that; this deeper insanity those treacherous conclusions
while a mother is certain about the behavior’s origin; but lies are sweet and
no one sees for everyone is stupid—this tale we tell ourselves while a person
is watching and realities are stolen; this deadzone those vines running
wretched or this castle upon high and nothing about truths; if but to breathe
and be damned those do-gooders for if God was good it wouldn’t be so hard; our
bodies looking like storms our spirits feeling fetid and this deep and dejected
personality; but I smiled today and that covers my depression while too many
people are asking—Are you alright?
