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It's just a ringtone.

I really couldn’t help myself. My fingers were thinking as the passage of red lights flew by me, energy circulated around me, I awaited a family message, in the midst of a lot of not caring. It’s hard to say what I was thinking, or what my mind was up to tonight… I was looking forward to a hotel bed and shower, a good talk with the family, and a long time sleeping. It was hard to say what was going on, but in a world where honesty is applauded, how is it that you fear in saying the truth?

Ha, I smiled. I knew enough, I said to myself.

Let me tell you a story, filled with creativity and beauty, with madness and disguise, with a sweet goodbye and a timely hello. 35 was the number, or perhaps it was 92, the answer, is really up to you. Pour the vodka onto an empty canvas, and sprinkle it with lemon. If I’m feeling crazy, I’ll throw in some black beans, and make it a dish. I’m sure I’ve lost you by now, but what’s the point in reading words that make sense anyways? But maybe, just maybe, you read that, and got what I meant. Got what I meant when a serialized message didn’t make it all the way through, when a blank page fills with color, and yet no image is to be found. There’s a beauty in similarity which feeds me happiness day by day, but a truth which feeds me reality, as I try to paint a watermark with oil. A drop falls onto a key, the letter ‘A’ it seems, the canvas keeps dripping, as I watch the stain bring life to a board that has never had its buttons pressed, to a board that saw the bottom of the world and kept going, because 36 in 28 was more of a goal than an impossibility.

Let me forget. I don’t do that thing which others crave. I don’t sorrow or break down, even as we jump off 13,000 and scream because death is so near, and living suddenly feels even fucking better. The rush of adrenaline speeds through your system, a tiny bit to the left you say, and then it’s perfect. Your moment of helplessness is accompanied with perfection, for a split second, you let yourself live, and then crawled right back in, and hid in that same shell that sought for the heroin that made your system shine. Yeah sure you had your moments of glory, the rushing heartbeat and scandalous memories, one phrase that isn’t stop does just that, but who knows what it might be, as ‘peanut butter’ echoes down the complex.

And so gently, they carry on. They take a stroll and watch the sun rise, I smile and can’t believe my eyes, he says he’s sorry, she remembers the colorful pages that had long ago been stained by that one night, and then her memories darken, as the knows, forgetting is simply not an option. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, and perhaps it never will be, its hopeless she told herself, but somehow, he knew, it really wasn’t.

qk

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Click

"Click".

It switched.
Unequivocally different.
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Perhaps reflections and glimmers
Gave us sight when we could not claim
But the panoramic put the shimmer
To shame.

Thank you.
In this brilliance we rose
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drifts away in prose

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Let us speak for it is time
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Although subtle
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Obtruded.

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Let the light paint our shadow
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with a subtle vibration

We know its time.

Learning to float

First my apologies.
Perhaps I gave y'all the idea that
it was all spit without the gears
We aint about that shit

Words can leave you salivating
But sweat builds the fucking mountains
So don't ever forget that in a heartbeat
I could carry your dreams and forget I even did

You're swimming in it, but you can't even float
The irony of words is that they hold the strength of plans
Without the gunshot
You'll never be grand.

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It's all too simple these days
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It's still running. It's near silence
but its not. The inaction,
It's deafening.

Heck I've gone mute,
I can't even rhyme shit
that could emphasize the prolonged
dream of a typeface, the letters were blank.

It was always that way,
It was always silent because at some point
We stop pinching ourselves and assume
that it was deserved…

Hold them.

Ever flip a coin hoping to choose
What never had a side?
Ever hope it fell on its side
Not yours or mine, but its.

Its the introspective gamble,
The bet we never made
The thoughts we shattered
Hoping their rebuilt selves would float away.

But instead we find ourselves walking on shards
Hoping to find the worlds' balance
We rebuild in pieces
But the scars never leave us.

Walking taller the worlds would never propitiate.
The past plays thinking it knows best,
The present checks for an all-in future,
But inaction has killed us before.

Fallacious wisdom rises to fail
For the trust of more over better.
We sacrifice the selfless
For the self to have less.

I wish I could make you understand
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But with every step
You seem to forget

This was never your game
You gave me the chips
Now please,
let me play.

I'm all in.