Goodmorning, Glory

My heart neither rests nor understands why I am so uncontrollably indicted, to the charge of an impulsive manner. I look towards the “others” to chase what I have already escaped, the fallacy in this all, is that my life continues to feed a vicious cycle that defines my behavior during the most trying times of my social behavior. Lashings of insults, confusion, lead me to another world, where the only scrutiny I receive comes from my mouthpiece. A song with no instrument, but a bottle of the imported poison, I find ever so potent when necessary. I leave you with ideas of a man looking towards the “others” for validation, an impressionable soul use to the walkway of an old hand that cannot be present in my life now. Old hand, old hand. I am the old hand’s softest texture but brittle is my soul to the idea of the old hand’ s desires and need. I thought I needed you to go to get rid of these demons, but I now see it is all on me, all of my doing. I have created these demons and I have to hold conference with them in order to ask for their departure. The only way to do so, is to once again immerse. I am waiting for you to understand this age, this age I am currently standing in,  the age of Anthony J. Thomas.

 

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