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Dare to live.
Stop insisting on chasing after death.
Stop trying to die.

Quit the grand illusion.
You shall never die.

Grow your wings and fly to the mountaintop
of your world.  Breathe stars.
Bravely go alone. Only you can do this.

Regularly in your day--exercise conviction.
Visualize Stars, the Sun.

Golden, fibrous threads
of starlight, of sunlight --

take them in, through the nostrils.

This is nothing less than
soul's power-fuel.

Inhale slowly and experience
the gentle music of love's fire,
as flames would pull up
a chimney stack, up pipes of ovens.

Faith builds with such breath practice.

Greed cooked transformed.
Anger put to rest.

Ignorance surrendering
to ways of knowing.

Prepare that your purpose
shall speak to you.

Breathe starlight.

Are you surprised
that you feel no heat?

Your unique timelessness
awaits your recognition.
Wait
These aren’t my hands
These can’t be my hands
What are they doing?
No!
Stop!
Cry!
Repeat!
I’m ok!
I didn’t do it
He didn’t do it
Who listens?
It glistens
The pearl of sin
Nobody wins

Wait
Those aren’t my eyes
They can’t be my eyes
The horrors they’ve seen
Never gazed on by me
Surely not
Look away
No!
Stop!
Cry!
Repeat!
I’m ok!
I didn’t see it
He didn’t see it
Who scoffs?
It stops
Time itself
Puts lies on the shelf

Crash!
Who’s there?
With torn hands
And vile eyes
A terrible stare

     Drink
What?
     Drink.
No
     Drink.
Please
     Drink.
It’s poison
     Drink.
I’ll die
     Drink.
Why do you want me to die?
     Drink!
I want to live
     Drink!
     DRINK!

     Drink from the broken cup
     Filled with lies I spew while you sup
     Now you know the cruel tale I spin
My love, I hurt
     Such a cruel
     Cruel
     Whim
If I was to confront myself... It wouldn't go well
I ran away
To better days

     Don’t stop singing for me

So far away
And almost gone

     Don’t stop dreaming

I ran away
To seek better days

     Keep me in mind and on your heart

I hope you’re sorry
For turning things around

     Don’t stop thinking of me

Maybe someday
I’ll come back around

     Don’t stop fighting through

Maybe I’ll come home to your sweet sound
And I hope you’re listening for sweeter sounds

The price to be paid for seeking residual gain
Is the lost ones never come back the same

I ran away
And I got lost and hurt

     Don’t stop
Sometimes the choices we make hurt, whether the choices are good or bad. But if it hurts too much... Then maybe it's time to reconsider.
There it is
Can’t you see it?
It’s shadow sits
The moon to see
A house so grand
None can reveal
The glorious splendor
Not one can steal
It’s pristine white
I lived here once
Then I took flight
Cowardice love
But who’s to say
That through my forsaking
I can’t love it more
Yet still I am aching
Don’t know if they’ll greet me
I’m scared of the door
Is love still behind it?
Will it find me once more?
It was here where I lost it
I fell down to red
Sweet like white chocolate
Yet lifeless and dead
Can this house revive me?
Do I still have a soul?
Just ring on the doorbell
One ring then you’ll know
Sometimes the hardest journey to make is to the source of your mistakes.
 Jul 2018 Delia Darling
Bryce
Art is opinion masquerading as truth.

When I draw a city, I am drawing the city of my dreams, just as the city that is does not exist.

Putting policy into words in the hopes of having yourself heard is not the point of the philosopher,

and should not be the end of the penman.

When I attempt to make the world see, I manufacture my enemy. We should seek instead to illuminate gracefully, to speak the words beyond the void of flesh, and to touch emotions that swim with depth

It will get us nowhere to make art political, of which it is propaganda and employed many an artist in the past;

whose dreams of good deeds became hung in a museum for all the wrong reasons, leaving a remnant of an unforseen circumstance hanging dry on an empty tour-guide phonecall

Descriptive yet lies

Argue the dialectic of truth than the present purfume of lies that is fumigated from the salivary discharge of a cetaceous yearning of ******* of thought, that leftover dream of God

That all things should be the same, that all minds should think that way-- if they were, we'd be done with the experiment.
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