Goodmorning, Glory

underThe Libertine 

All I hear is static noise, annoyances, lost vocals begging for understanding, clawing at their nerves to get a bearing, a sense of stability but there is so much mist, they simply place their misery with tragedy, I am not the golden soldier to remove them from despair but I am the pitch of sound channeling through the ground in which they lie, informing their souls of departure and empathy. I am listening and arguing stability, for my survival on this sliver of land we must share. I smell regret lingering on the collarbone of my future, but I mustn’t oblige with its pleasures or wishes, but I can respect the prose of an ill willed drive of distaste and power. At this point it is only my ideas and I, the fruition of manifesting their existence and allowing others to feel the brisk chill of change, as I plan to implement so much in such a short period of time. I can bear no longer, the inhumane, pangs of confusion, so you know what, it is at this point we declare a new period. (lasting • transformation)

 

 

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