The posture of every point to the soil of what was only a sitting reality,
I was tooth and nail on the days that I woke to what made the seat wet,
in war to that and the said I say that school was only the grade of temperature.
To know that my older sister turned her back in the nights of realm I just say go on with you own life,
don't query my daze with whatever you may find today December 2nd,
the year is of no consequence in a flashback,
it is as the running tape in my brain dead head now has the sip of rest,
to see with clarity on every throw-up of bile.
What gave the residence at 815?
I posture the shoulders that never came for me to rest upon and just cry,
the man that never said you seem locked in a bit of harnessed breath,
these are the moments that people are unaware of as their day is filled with seams,
threads or the string it is only the point.
Now to understand I was sodomized as a very young child,
comprehend that with the seating that was said by my older brother and the picking-up of poop in state,
does it ever end?
The malignant narcissist never gives in to tomorrow as yesterday flares their idea to next week,
it is grown as the grass in a field of dreams to torture,
each blank is filed and that is filled with touch the matter,
there is not a day that passes that the very next idea is not set to table and dined with napkins.
The drooling affairs of the fat kick is as the odd gets an even steer,
driving that with all the idea whelping with red light stop light greens with yield.
The crop is only the baling machine that malignant narcissists fly,
as my mother was tortured by my older brother and older sister I wonder nothing to note,
the music plays style to language and I thought it might stop.
Oh for the hope or the wish,
it reaps as death barrels,
coffins and cremation,
the eats and the drinks.
To steep the valley of what happened back in the day I only stand to say I am still alive,
I am not a thing,
I don't halt my life to say that life goes on as life always has,
there is not top price to life goes on,
it is as it is,
life is the rector as brains are its wheels,
connect the dots at anytime and malignant narcissist say that you are in the past,
weight the piled.
Should you never work it out the torture continues minute by success,
scrutiny by the malignant narcissist is the language that tunnels light to climb,
each malignant narcissist never gives up the thorough find of a clatter that cannot be found,
silence is golden?
Well on the Public that tangles such words to Quotes I just say that it is the Era of Horror,
every detail now speaks to the moments of my youth,
the 1960s set the tone.
As I mourn the memory of what made flutes the violins I simplify the reality to the age of accounting,
adults were in the residence and I was at the mercy of what the absolute gave,
glass tinkling to cheering for the bass,
oh for the fish that pole of hooks,
pits and grapes.
Now a bit less confused over being taken down the echoing tune,
I suppose that sodomy is not the other and the core is not tampered and that makes Mankind sigh,
I can't imagine the grim tall that read these reads to ask questions again,
yet I know that disc is different,
the value is up,
my smile may be a dimmer for the moment yet I know with a best foot I can price.
No comments:
Post a Comment