Word Count:531

My fists bleed death,
every time I utter the existence of the woman who cried,
but couldn’t see.
The differences between relying and crying, is simple.
First, relax;
know that there is an existential discrepancy between mysteries and gold.
Where did you go
Is there a pilot?
Is there a gate?
Is there an apprentice who pretends to wolf?
Wolfing leads to an impractical practice,
which is kind of redundant (in my opinion).
The impractical practice then leads to pretenders, pretending, that they indeed know everything about matters of the door.
Once I accidently found an outlet to all of my disappointment,
along with the theory that there is in fact, 27 letters to the alphabet.
I don’t quite understand it,
but it makes sense when you re-arrange your thoughts
and align them with the thought of virtuous pretensions.
That’s right; it is I,
who mastered the art of nothingness.
It was I, or shall I say me,
who is the becomer who politically, and poetically, has the potential to become potential.
It will then rain. It will become everything that one could never imagine to fathom,
Hypothetically speaking,
I am the capital between the capitals.
I am the one who unites the three or four needles,
until ones wish to become evil
I take the course and then,
insanity takes slowly seeps into the womb.
I ask you the question,
is it worth the proof?
Is it worth the risk of being imperial?
O boy!
I believe that in order to break free the expression of the mindful tactics,
one must find the oppression of all that is mad.
Then make it appear to be something so genuine, that one will find the operation and destroy ever mood that it has ever been.
After all,
everything is given to those who believe that everything is the rational explanation of thought through the eyes that belong to sea.
There is no exception to animal the liberation.
One day,
there will be an execution to those who scrutinize the bewildered.
Following idioms or controlled services serve no purpose to life,
kind of like the platypus.
I am certain that am I am the victim,
of your millennium disguised heart.
I shall have revenge, as soon as I return from the savage land from which I came.
It is the splendor of being
I am the son of God, and a bastard.
I am a nun
You’ve done to me,
just like they all have done.
They have came and rudely awaken the prince of peas,
that forces me to act in ways that only a microscopic prison,
that can only bare to suspend your wrong for exactly 8.43 seconds….amazing!
It gives me pleasure knowing, that all life realties are foam.
Seriously, if you leave me, I will sue.
I will bring forth an incredible tub of being so large,
that it will become a part of culture, and you will then regret it.
I am a product of the rich grass that blows between the two who grew up and became real
Really real, the kind of real that doesn’t exist
The type of real that people dream to never become reality.