Be lone

Weeding my mind of horror

I bother to sit for days

There’s a common theme throughout the house,

A young girl as she plays

I don’t have time to spend with her,

Truth is,

(I couldn’t care)

Not because I’ve lost her trust,

But because I’m never there

If I could write the truth again,

This is what I’d say,

The young girl is blessed here,

And wallow shall she play,

The world gives us all a chance,

And interrupts us not,

I regret to type this poem out,

Outlier should we fought.

In english word is careful prose,

A time capsule of repent,

Remembering a horror time,

The tower and it’s scent

The one who fell first should be built up,

So the second too,

The emotion in this churchy house,

Anonymity blessed you.

You know the name for those remorse, fellow sudden few,

Sitting among the dinner table,

Said not that laugh for you.

We wave a hand, dismiss the class, and gesture for a sign,

The father in our humble places, stops us just in time.

You’d think the poem ought to end, and trust that true it shall,

A one voice tone, a pitch, a phone, the sister mind (oh, wow).

In present time she is yards away,

Separated by door and wall.

She pled to Granma, where to now,

And blindly was answered for her question, not that I could see,

She wanted to go back to play,

Her mother not right there.

The elder always talk in the tone,

To make me second guess, I guessed,

Truth is they likely just share love,

A photo, plan or moment. I digress,

The actions taken against my soul,

A blame I cannot muster,

Wanting someone to understand,

I am still just a youngster…

Getting to, the mongrel barks, (it’s humour – love her well),

A reader of the written sound,

I remember that I write.

It’s September, like last year, feeling all the same. Access to the best of things, albeit not a game.

Computer broken, at least the keys, and instagram obsessed…

In three days I’ve haunted more, news and spies alest,

One or two laughs. One or two.

Maybe maybe more.

In my mind the humour hits,

Yet judgement also, well.

As a boy with a curious mind, and efferwhelming cause,

I wonder if the space in time, between the space’s time,

Could be filled with other choice, you get it, there’s a noise,

Attention drawn to subtle things, by memory and their choice.

I can control the anxiety once or twice, but not just in the morn, in fact when I wake up, it’s like I’ve been reborn.

I watch all day as dendrytes click, and my mind seeks out the path… my body with a barrier, seen by what I’ve read. People always cheering on, or beating to a pulp, the efforts of the countless mass, the hordes of people there.

With 7.5 billion on the earth, one asks that if it’s true… when I was born I was only one, one cell that had been fused. Now God above who answers all, and gives that which we need… the population of the earth, I know…

I’m waiting for the chant to end,

Not knowing where it

… the two lines I answered her, or him but likely her,

Because I believe I’ve had a connection, a thought link through the text. She gives me apple, I take a bite, I swallow up my doubt…

Was she evil, am I good, why should the air be clear,

Weight as I change, the pressure builds (a brother nearing by)…

The house sits calm, the anticipate, I will need to break my rhyme…

The guy he yells, my floors they shake, no matter what I do. The fact is my ears can be good, my heart allowed, my finger starts to fade…

In English I am like you. I hope. Maybe it’s

Another common phrase that interrupts the song…

Outside the 10×10 right here, I cannot seem to guess, where everyone is or what they do, or why it even matters. Rightfully, I am likely safe, though if you knew me doubt, I forgive…

Doubt I forgive

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

36 characters,

I’m lonely. Right? So my dance is just a test? A tapping on an android screen, romance at it’s finest best? Is there something I can do… to break this cycle now? I’ve seen your message, played the war, and don’t want the pain to end, ok? If we fear change, and I am hurt, I cannot choose my happy. It startles me to feel the pleasure, because to me it’s foreign, to you it’s new (so test), Yet truly it is yes. I waver in time, literally now as I write, everyday sometimes. The words sound great to me, a witch’s brew perhaps… what am I intoxicated on? Myself?

It’s likely dopamine, or something else (Sinek you made me laugh)… I realize I feel this way and buzz my bursted buzz my bursted wind…

The ghoster in me, the ghoster in you. We don’t know. We know. The girl is downstairs. I’ve seen some stranger dreams, some truer, the last night’s I forget. It’s likely food that’s on my nose… yes… the smell…

Before I start to delete, because someone makes a sound… before I paralyze the timing rhythm… or jinx a muted sound.

I think my life is in or out,

Awake or not asleep

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