Goodmorning, Glory


The letter red, the statute of law that I abide and live by, the crease in the emotional fold I submit these pangs towards…my survival and existence expressively. Projecting my woes on children, who have managed to handle these thoughts more successfully than my physical vessel. A sailing soul through the rivers of compelling confusion but instantaneous relativity, the shores often melodic cries of attention, guttural sounds of amazement, they slay the concerto: my simple melody. My melody of creating, loving, living, consuming. The emptiness you seek is filled with remorse and trials, mockery at its best when measuring, who, when and what can be done to save yourself from the end of this. I never indebted myself with handling the love of others. A load of sharp, greasy, needles oozing insecurity with every attempt of carry. I need to know that what I have now is what will move this narration to heights, that I could never predict. I can see the valley, patiently waiting as the season approaches…