A movement, a motion. The degree by which ideas are relevant. Sometimes eyes are hard and pressing. What they find is their own reflection set in granite. In an eye blink, fate is lost to indecision.
Close circuit, random friction. Diabetic handshake without a moment to lose. Tell me your name so I know how to address you when I read your name over the PA to the thousands listening in fear, crossing their fingers hoping that their love ones live on. Write me a letter denouncing your love for me; tell me how you hate me. Defy me the knowledge of knowing you. Let your anger be felt. Fill with the passion that drives people to kill. Laugh at me, mock me tell me I am worthless. It is okay, I know the truth. With violence overtones I end all relations with my state of being. It was never right anyway. Nowhere to sign my signature that turns over my soul to those who own it.
Mission Statement: Transposed emotional fiction. Where do we deal? Healthy I am not. I will decay as time goes, further into my eyes and vanishing forever. So damn sad. The envy of none. How to guess which are the free floating, unplatformed lies that raise the family spirits. Sin Driver! Sin Driver! I will brand you with the seal that shows your affiliation with the black party of death. Today I will speak the truth. It hurts my sides and stomach. The time will expire as will we all. Plastic enclosure suffocating the very life from those who enjoy it. I will never know. I will never know all the answers.
I Hate. I Hate. I Hate.
Self-defeated lips whisper their knowledge of foul truths. The last breathe speaks of forgiveness and God to save their soul. You need to listen, for it is the truth. A dying man has all the answers. Strained bodies converge and decide that it was for the better. May we all rest now.
Happiness is well preserved. A ritual flight into the great vast of land that awaits us. The voyage starts here. We look ahead into the land of great unknown.
Despair in colorless eyes. The pain runs deep. It runs off the walls. Stare off point blank. I will never understand the point of life. I want to be an instrument of destruction. Hell-bound candy oppression. Liberation research condones it so well. Sleep deprivation is the key to ideas. Sleeveless views are provoked though, through the imprisonment, it was all okay. 48 seconds later, the turtleneck lays folded in the drawer. It conveys the gesture that the idea is not as great as originally thought. People now live in fear.
The chaser is flammable. Resurrect and discontinue the substitute for caffeine love.
A girl can never hurt you enough.
STOP THIS MADNESS!
note: The last one of the semester.