As in oriented, fresh off
newly found desease to peel your skin and rent your cells till time's off.
The visual, the inspiration of a nation going from state to station to any other location where and when the means find it's ethics to justify the ends.
those who drift are allowed hope in a chance taken from a dangling rope that snakes it's way around everybody's neck.
Around every single blood vessel.
this is compared, as weight over the shoulders, to the view of a full blue morning seen through a cage surrounded by bars, made of such cold steel that they turn my thoughts and my deviant fingers into a long-gone hibernation state that has spreaded into my soul.
i am moving more than i am not,
but racing through time has always been a less than operant part of my liquid experience. I AM OF THE SOLITUDE OF ICE, as far as that goes.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário