As Porfiry sipped from the brightly blue drink she’d bought him, words did not rush from his lips in their usual manner.

“You’re so… , I mean ha , your eyes, they’re umm, haha pardon me” he rushed for his straw once more, beginning to believe he’d lost the ability to flatter.

Across from him, behind eyes that glowed of malachite, a smile radiating joy, and bangs hinting feigned innocence, was a girl not of his type.

Yet, here he sat, a journalist lost for words. No longer simply unable to speak but beginning to feel as if he could no longer read or write.

Floral scents from her aroma seemed to invade his space, shimmer down his spine, and follow him back to his flat.

Staring at the ceiling in the black of night, he challenged his desires, why did an outlier fill him with butterflies such as that.

The next two dawns roaming through town, he felt chills as the sight of bangs harassed him. All the traffic lights were emerald and the world looked new.

Twenty four hours later, Porfiry learned he had the flu.

I’ve begun to slip into madness.

Reminders of society bring about thoughts and stomach sensations that kind of feel like sadness.

They’re more reminders I could become sad but It’s a distant yet familiar hole

It’s like glancing through prison bars separately me from my soul.

However here I must remain as I chase my dreams in my self manufactured exile

The obtainment of true freedom, ironically requires one to be locked away for awhile.

I’m starting to believe summiting Everest is all about grip.

That’s the thing about going to the edge of reality, you just might slip.

The suspense of impending insanity perturbs me,  so I dive forward full force.

Freedom I preach, the path however, I do not endorse.

The boy thinks of the day he isn’t in Kansas anymore.

Only to learn the world is full of plenty lore.

Who tells a star which way is north?

Then came months and months of back and forth.

Ah- Ah,

The pain, became boring, when I was aching that’s when I could finally sleep.

Now I’m snoring, gone is any trace of you, I think I can finally dream.

I think I am finally clean.

Redundancy seems to invite white blood cells that accumulate into decadence.

Leading to tumors composed of debts, to empires operating with consistent deficits.

Seneca solved the dilemma, finding a vaccine that staged off all of wealth’s symptoms.

Banks infect their communities, a search for a borrower is a search for a victim.

Wealth when fully utilized should bring the choice of where to be, what to think, when to listen.

Often the only difference between a slave and rich man is one has decided to rent his prison.

Seneca knew It was illogical to amass resources and yet not be free.

For to have debts certainly means you have somewhere you must be.

Why are a significant amount of scientists atheists? This is something I ponder.

Now as a Christian, other Christians would ironically advise me to toss the baby with the bath water.

It’s an extraordinary question because the intelligence much of my academic heroes posses,  can’t be faked.

Yet, they seem to argue that if they can reverse engineer the recipe to your cake, this confirms your absence when It was baked.

My inquiry is not for division, quite the opposite, Jesus asked the disciples to gather the most diverse groups they could muster.

How is It that the most mathematic souls on earth are not noticing this obvious statistical cluster?

Statistically, such a distribution is nearly impossible by chance.

It seems to be more evidence that ego can’t coexist with faith, acceptance of God is a contradiction to the belief your mind is the most advance.

The hands go round & round this old clock ,until the day your hand meets mine.

Spending time in the books and the kitchen, hoping that day I can pick the right wine.

This year I made a killing, but I’m not living, cause there’s this one thing, I can’t find.

Cause I lost my spot, in the longest line.

yeah I know lost my spot, but I’m back in line,

Patiently waiting for mine.

I knocked my insecurities off, I'm being authentic.

Futures can transform from fuzzy to fully vivid.

What would your dream mean if you decided to live it?

Is peace taken away or do you give it?

Isn't it easier to make your bed when the linen is fitted?

My corners don't hook up anymore, I'm finished.

The crime is more significant than the witness.

Remember when it was desired that no one could say "he did it"?

As long as they print it, I know they'll send it.

& I'm saving most of mine every time I get it.