Don’t push me in the dirt, I’ll make you regret every bit of blood you spilled. Those lies you told the congregation, like a library filled with dirty old books that no one reads anymore. I had a feeling it would come to this, can you feel the blade piercing your side as the pain sets in nice and slow. Slicing forward and true, you edged out in mere seconds from a pathway of malice. The air smells of death and Iron, like a clasp of steel tones creeping inside and yelling for help. You were a devil, yet still unwilling to favor in front of your sinful ways. Could there be any strongholds in your wake, making sure you could not pass through. I asked you once, you glanced in the opposite direction in swift danger.
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Working out the minds crazy mountains, that madness you can seem to quell or push back from bubbling to the surface. Missing out on the lives of hundreds of people you know, never being in tune with those surrounded by treacherous ways. You filled the cup full, overflowing with questions seemingly mistaken for matches in the counter top. Smiles overcrowding your eyelids, caving in and you hadn’t pressed the right buttons for which there was never a consequence. Save it all for when you can fight back, the fabric cracked outside the wall in painful strides. The accusers shout and mock, in which you quivered from the fear of transparency. These men with spears, as you do this and the other so carnivorously.
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Rebels Consciousness Founder Creator And Contributor
You stare away in a trance, eye balls shatter such as light bulbs. Figuring out a truth, finding love isn’t so suspect any longer. Flares of mixture if cycling around the ferris wheel, mindful of the wishes you once were encapsulated with. Round it goes in your heart, thudding within and pumping the life back into your soul. I do recall that letter, ink splattered down like a blood stained shirt. That viciously came upon my words, that exclaimed my honest yet trivial promises. I didn’t need inspiration for this one, it was all within me and falling at once. You tore me apart, like a spine ripping at the seams from an attack by a cruel mist of hatred. Its obvious this was all wrong, I’m only curious what your thoughts conjured in the clouds.
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The white ghost pursues you in the night, up the stairs you go into oblivion. In the hole you’re fearful to turn your back to the past. The shape of that moment, adherent to the walk down the steps of treasonous blindfolds. They chased you among the stars, within the pillars of magical trips. Your eyes blend in with the sea’s, they were five windfields and bright trees waving their hands up. The road passed through you, couldn’t see it as the planned paper airplanes settled. You were tricked by that presence, hadn’t seen it for more than forty seconds in view. The city streets were blurred, dancing in the sweet melody of blank canvases.
Watch the leaves fall, in effervescent melody and spears of magnificence. My mouth fills up with prideful wallows, flashy in brimstone and red mixture promises. You were blessed, without fault and canned with thoughts of downturned blazing. It was boastful, inside the skin and bones crawls the words from which you came from. The true face of fear, stares into your sheared and blessed imagination. Hands connecting to the ladder, crawling upward unbounded as the split became clear. Those personal boils, cinched a cold and callous majesty. The go between slitted the barrier, the crack in the ceiling as the light would show through. Why would you pass the torch now, to these final breaths featuring and windfilled lectures.
If that tiny spark of light were to go out, where would you go to find a bigger one. The clocks in your storehouse clicked, but the hands were missing. You were made by that candle spigot, flowed through the room in cohesion and carefully placed circumference. That letter moved into your mind, as the pain missed your face as pale as stone. It wailed away screaming out into the night wind. The road was found in the past, tressed into loops on the carpet. Your feet wrinkled up, folded down with a wand sparking that encampment. If that fire were to burn so far, would you find a way out of the hole. The wall hadn’t broken out yet, you came forward with the spike in your hand. It sizzled and stirred in furiosity, those maggots skurry for a way out the door. Stay awoken he said, he blessed you with he machine that would cleanse you of all wrongs.
Writing is like a staple, it fiercely penetrates the skin. You never understand why its there, until its out on the page. But its something you did to yourself, it had to be brought out because you couldn’t do anything more if it hadn’t. There’s no goal, there’s reason no reason for any of it honestly. It’s like shaving your head, getting rid of all the little strands of hair is difficult but you feel free when its done. A potential gun to the head, as it presses against your temple. It waits for you to act, but has an idea that you would choose the other way. You have to hurt yourself, to find the peak. The sky point, just right before the falling. I guess its the most dangerous thing you can do. Because its the most vulnerable you are, there’s nothing like putting some on paper.