writing while waiting

empty precipices filled with spices life is like this or you can deny it well written algorithms taken over by robots angered by ancestral apparitions making the decisions to complicate the mission, the matter, affected by the weight of gravity pulled by forces against and for me. dripping canvases with water brushes and pigments plainly seen on a screen through electricity, doubt filled strokes, stupid strokes, life filled strokes, story-telling strokes artful thoughts lingering words that rhyme and repeat. old adages rips facades off faces feeling nothing anymore when life became a chore and words became a bore and my head is sore my eyes are sore from over use, other limbs have energy in them but doesn’t everything fade with time, so might as well be someone or be no one, they’re both one in the same this isn’t a new idea, it’s repeated from a book i read a long time ago in my early twenties maybe teen years in high school, i should have finished college but according to whom? my life is perfect and fine just the way it is and i live in abundance. GOD is always good and i say this phrase often to proclaim what is already known but HE is worthy of praise and acknowledgment by HIS creation. opinion or fact? or another retold artifact? label it what you will i plead the fifth and sit still. legalities irk me but systems serve their purpose for order and structure, divine architecture. the story-telling body, poetic pieces found in everything and all around and within, sink or swim life is game, we’re all called a name, mine means bright fame but i don’t want to be famous i’d rather drift and in an instant be spontaneously singing or laughing or painting or drawing. what is truth? we’re in an infinite span of time but these are just theories and repeating stories limited thinking keeps me going so i’ll read more to retain less memory i’d rather stare at the artfully designed sky with clouds that creep by clustering and mishaping beams of light in different directions, this is just a projection, a reflection.

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3 Comments

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3 responses to “writing while waiting

  1. So different yet so relatable!

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