to all those in troubles.
, I left the entanglements of branches unlimited, knowing Mother will create order. Fearing to share that which can also be wronged, loathing that which cripples me, I take mine with me... for I fear I am broken.
I suppose this is where it goes, a comfortable corner makes it easier.
The pyramid of human needs…to be so aware of the perils of a slip of foot, it is a wonder there are those that continue to scale above the lowly blocks lain with the endurance of our line.
I allowed my eyes to dare gaze upon the spectrum of colors, taken from the one white that we are; a scattering of studied charms, an infinity of arrangements, victims of our own perceptions; I myself, wishing to be part of.
I delighted in embracing portions of a new purpose,
(the nectar I so cling to, forever demanding with its debt; and the pity for those never knowing such sweet pain), desiring the lift and carry, sucking in sweet compositions from the unfiltered air.
The Cloaking of Evolution:
Not wanting to be misread or send anyone deeper into disillusionment or distortion, I bought time, clung to my notions that artists feed upon themselves more heavily than on others. I re-welcomed seclusion, incorporating fragments of long stained pieces, in satisfying my overwhelming new need.
Eyes burning from white, my fingers gliding farther up the smooth surface, to grip precariously that which I longed to gaze through and out. It is then I laughed, thrilled to be in the madness of intoxication. “How the hell do these people sleep and prosper within such insanity?” The hold appears to mutate, as I see, in my worn state, battered for the baring of myself on my quest.
The mutations you ask? The setting is a compromise for and by all to sustain such diversity, and some tweaks on tolerance, hehe. Where did I put each sample of those I have glimpsed in the array of “sublines”? All are driven by some predatory fashion, whether classed or called to or primals demanded, just as the various levels on that slippery slope of humanity’s hierarchy of needs. Always sacrificing the on looking “domesticates”, (Hey, it’s only fair!)
It has crossed the line I drew, drawing blood away from the primary vessels of my RL (of which I am thankful to have), leaving me weakened, sliding away from positive progression. I grasp that within my breast, for the faith, though already knowing, the tracks lead on; though where, when, I don’t know.
If we cross not again, it has been my pleasure. I go to rest now.
