Goodmorning, Glory

hole up

The shadows have such a killer instinct, they warn us of forgotten lust, love, battles unworn or seen by eyes of pertinent innocence. If we must share this space, then I must begin to learn of the mental realm in which you operate. For quite some time, I spoke to the inner chords of your pain, and let the melodies shake the rhythm driven chemistry of your bones, but now, now, your skin is my attention. We’ve studied the metaphysical, the existential cove of ideas, the philosophy of what I believe to be our kindred endurance between one another, but now I must detail my love, hatred and admiration of the black + white. We can serve a literal sense of being with this idea or we can go around the narrative in a more exciting form, ruminating just what color is, why should color rebuke demons of chastisement and where can I comment on my color in a cohesive, diabolical manner. To disrupt the paradigm, to disrupt the maze, to destroy the pain. But in order to destroy I must equate, build, equate and build. Then build and then build. Hopefully, love finds a home in the process, it always has but since it continuously tires itself from reminding us of what we should believe in, I believe we should know just enough to replicate it’s power in real time.

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