Adapt,
What has embalmed passion with individuality, I ask you to tell me.
What has rapped my compassion, forcing me to give a damn about the questions "I'm askin", runs from me as if I'm perspiring the very words I imagine.
What has flavored tasteless confusion... of the very idea that grows from my mouth?
What has skinned the thoughts I use to smile, grunt and grin, and creates the smallest need to erode from the inside out?
With my hands I build many layers of solid insecurity, Speckled with detectability of a hemorrhaging spirituality, I fly south to spread the seeds I sprout and then lay in comfort knowing they emerge idealistic imprints of he you READ.
I change moods as seasons come and go, and as I morph into an unpredictable metaphor, I burrow below confidence to shade diamonds of sorrow. I teach amazement of its endless sparkle and glow to yesterday's tomorrow, knowing I walk right into what I already know.
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