

True moments never ceaseI'm sitting on the stillness of a veil painted cobalt, Of a cloud composed for sleep textured to the hue of warm but distant daylight.True moments never cease
A beam that manages to break through the slipshod
Prison walls blinding these eyes from the answers burns A small corner in the room, A small corner in my brain.
How quant and dolorous it is for her frames to be reached by These floodlights of God.
Oh these frames, Oh these images of fate in the form of Venus, Oh these bolts of thunder and wind!
And yet I still wrap my burning mind and aching chest in this Cold storm of dust and tar c


This is reality.This is what it feels like to have the vestiges of what makes you human torn apart. Flesh cauterized, thoughts turned into ephemeral wastes of warmth, I sit and gaze across this barren creation of man from the Earth.This is reality.
Love, as it is, remains an idea consitituent to the proletariot of this soil.
As we have sprung from dirt, we shall re-enter it as corpses. My thoughts, my creation, my love, my hopes and my dreams shall all die. Don't fret restless soul, for you shall be erased.
Oh clay of ersatz molding, take me back to where I belong.
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god wants me to be such an asshole.
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"Quand les critiques ne sont pas d'accord entre eux, l'artiste est en accord avec lui-même."
[ Oscar Wilde ]
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"A revolution without dancing, is not my revolution."
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"A revolution without dancing, is not my revolution."
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"If your pictures aren't good enough, you aren't close enough." (Robert Capa)
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