Vise
Fornicating with the visions of what people do to me, and wanting my vulnerabilities to set me free, percolates these childish tenancies and the mistakes of the love we try to forcibly take becomes our explosive mistake.
Our mental freedom brooders with the issues we look forward to expect and we loose all meaningless respect, we harmoniously shelter the many verbal iniquities of the prevaricated aspect of the love we get… so we harvest it as we do fine rice paper when its wet.
What solidifies my wishes demolishes every wanted vision in what I call dreams, and what becomes my selfish premeditated decision holds no heat to prides decaying self-steam.
Life! Is unbalanced by the motionless acts of our prides, and I can’t help not letting it pass me by, I hurt not with the tears I have yet to cry while struggling over our lack of control in letting our loved ones die.
Frustration talks to me in my sleep and at times it seems as if I can never part with how I weep, I can never decide over which way I’d leap to secure the vise’s behind the thoughts I keep.
Vigorous interpretations bleeds through the very soul I own and I find my self anger to be too precise, disguised by the different sides of the emotions we cry tampers with the style of why we try to categorize and structuralize the many layers of surprise, acting as if we had no idea this style of being alive was our vise.
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