Turnaround
I reel a beautiful portrait of a bad idea, steal patience from the very mechanics outlining my morals and building values,
I chisel an image similar to an emotional breakdown of the very stress that impresses my frowns, I stew on rules governing my blues... and like a account balance with a negative outbound, I zen fung-shway peices of how I turn myself around.
Positive forces skeet's across the valleys of shi-gong imprints of me, and I downward facing dog my worries in a written monologue of the experiences, (like a childspose) balances the reiki flowing through me.
I instinctively become cogent of the turnaround I allow to set this poetry free.
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