8/28

I still feel cold

Your forehead touching mine
held captive as you were
by your body’s new home,

A wooden casket

Felt so much, stoic past couldnt mask it
No breath, On my knees howling,
Body reaction analphylatic
Must be allergic to truth, Epi my body
please Save me so I can task it

Inside sight still Burns so hot
I'm melting out here,
must be made outta patchwork plastic,
Zinn man, can can you hear

Your body resting, a symbolic system
Forming a quietude of mourning moods ,
and murdered motivations, and somehow even inspirations

Friend still dead so I gotta tremble
Ritual require so we assemble, trouble is
Pain is an illusion , but how  do I
pierce this false Conclusion

Falling prey powerfully to this pervasive grief,
So still no vibrations This **** must be
an optical delusion

Still in disbelief and I still feel cold.

Our whole community perceptions formed by conceptions,
Creative community informed protection

A general order of existence, clothed in factuality
mood realistic, magnitude mystic
So focused on your life,
just so we could love and miss it

Cause The candle that burns
twice as bright
lives half its life
double finite

Like a falling star you crashed
Excited the red of my stop light
Walked up to the circle jerks
And hit me with a simple sound bite

“Who wants to be my best friend
and give me a cigaretee?”

Leap of faith trying to touch a fallen star,
You could be so blunt, people left with fingers burnt

Look at the sky purple light know right where you are
So subtle, always curious to what we could learn  

Hand over my heart
for 21 G=U=N Moments
You had honor.

I still have your rose,
Dead as you are,
withering beautifully

Just as cold as I am.

There is Presence.  Presence....and there is Light.

“Where am I? What, what,  Who am I?  Am I alive or dead?"  

A suppressed thought makes itself known,
But the neural signal splinters like a bone blown

Far Apart,

Like how my world falls

The way a Cop knocks,
Aggressive *** Nap. bonaparte

Door sound off the hinges,
Safe within , Mi casa es fort knox
Torn apart and a bit Noid
but I’m off the binges,

Drugs gone for years, Ta this day I sew to mend the fringes
So cold my needless frost their tips in silver grips

But It's not over till I clipp the wings
of the Ego above the mountain
and Watch till it fall past ridges

Red sunset stays still while I cry sacrifice

Burn my past like a pagan offering,
measurement of change
Translates to suffering,
the kind the  attached mind brings with age
Like what gravity did to  lay ink to this page

Narrative of the self as a nature staff,
unattached, Barista Like i pour out my past,

To create or destroy, Maybe both
Phoenix rise I was borne of ash
Should I be watering these plants or murdering these beats
I can do both, Stand still as I grow up theese weeds
from under ya feet

Trace up your body, then fold round  like origami,
Hold you still forever, While we pour the waters of truth
Down your throat till you drowning
and crave nothing but the desert drought

I am Enkidu,  started and was born in the forest you so forlorn
I seek the taste, primal essence and grace,
Seem invulnerable to me, but  they lay waste

You offer the black death, while the government reaps of black debt

Living hand in hand with the shadow silhouette,
Sweet sweet  smell of tobacco cigarette
Held holy in hardworked hands

Impoverished Living hand in hand with the capitalist statuette,
live in ignorance staring at the stars
forget the front faced life
like a space cadet

I’ll  bring you out with the kind of light I emit
Green mixed with blue, hope and will brings true legit
Action, which moves you from
The darkest passion the mind brings
Desire so seems everlastinging
But antipode to Omniamorous offering,

Use discernment
there is that which is
Last like poison, but first like Nectar
Then Hard When you start
Hard work make a turn for the better

The search for truth, now sweet as a melon, careful i labor to not live as a felon
Beat never meta, caught you off guard
Trapped out from the top of the pyramid
Tap 5 mana and and a demon
Summon that  Donald trump card

The Oxidant is ever defined by the history of the orient
The context is a mystery until found,

like the minutiae of what an explorer meant
when they added an image to their diaries

There was this specific image where

A giant fish pulls a boat

Waves crashing
from the background to the fore

Cascading, swirling whites and greens,
but effervescent blues show up more

Atman means self, which never dies
Are we the fish or on the boat?

When waves birthed from typhoons
land down sorely and the hull breaks apart

Does the world break too?

Are we the ocean of conditions
through which the fish ferries
the boat of the ego?

Or perhaps the birds eye resident,
a view set between the dual wings
of the present and past sets.

Are we the mind that dreams the future? What is possible entangled through the perceiver’s sight, awareness in kind

Or maybe we are the people
terrified by our lot in life wondering how we got caught up in such an endeavor?  

Whose to say?

I
have
my
moments

and

my
moments
have
me,

that's for dam sure.