Speak to me of harmony, when moments flood together in a constant stream. They don’t cut up in pieces and float out, chopped bits flinging towards the east, the west, and falling to the south. Deciphering the raw memories before they cut up my spine, notches for the murder of myself, simply because I ran out of time. I’m nothing without the order- so, what then? It’s not here. Even in the beauty, when I laugh at simple life, it’s delusion. My mind has deemed it delusion when I come back to my senses, but that’s the intellectual side of me. The other side says it’s water- perfect, clear, life. Emotions. Depth. Passion. Darkness. It’s the breath of life itself, the acceptance of all things. The divine ripping open your veins and pouring them out into the earth to heal what it may. I am feeling for you.

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