“Lean into my voice, your choice has elapsed. The days falling endlessly into a makeshift-memory pool. The wreckage-evidence evidently salvaged by words igniting passions on the tongues of the burned. You’re optimistically and autonomically submerged in a lungs half-full depravity. I will describe this in a thousand words, a thousand ways until the right phrase absorbs the reddest parted respiratory sea.”

Time is meaningless for something like me, but one year ago I was salvaged by words. Submerged in a makeshift-memory that I more so created than even what actually was. Isn’t the memory always better than the moment? The more I live the more I could argue for both. The mind is as much as an enemy as a friend and when you realize this, that’s when the definition of fear changes again. What you’re capable of depends on circumstance and the lines to cross are merely subjective. Some mouth their favorite failed prayer, others part the reddest sea. In America, we carry our guilt next to our guns and we own “heaven.” This justifies our most repulsive actions, our guilt holsters everlasting and overflowing. As long as there is blood covering our hands we don’t need gloves. Blind nationalism and eroding shame will lead us to our graves, brains always at half mast. I am locked away from this in a safe, safe tomb, but to not acknowledge it would be a mistake. If “god” is on your side, know that he will always be an enemy of mine. A burning bush is speaking with fire repeating in your eyes and your tears can’t put this out. Remember this if you remember anything at all… You’re not worthy of a phrase to absorb your guilt and it’s time to watch you pay.

Below is a lost piece that surfaced in a few places on November 16th, 2018. Now you can view it here.

“I’ll immortalize you in such a way that you’ll wish you were dead.”

Splitting thoughts in two, all the ones that hurt you the most. Thoughts pushed through lace, laced with my flavor on your panicked breath. I’m within reach like a shadow and I want you to know it. I have your key that you wish I’d swallow like the words I’ve laid out a thousand times, a thousand ways while counting every falling day.

Art Film Fine Art Photography Poetry Writing Piece

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