Walking with the whispering strain of the winding winds in my outnumbered mind and so many goddamn afterthoughts that only I can ever really imagine
And it isn’t even all that frightful anymore – there is something precious calling at my bare-naked name, at the flame of my colossal being, by the continual strength of the wild, Wilde winds and it feels a whole lot of it like… a rather nice Minnesota moment for its otherworldly portrayal

Been singularly sleeping with these struggling-pills for my very best-friend til making trusted sense again
All of these other misshapen things which will forever fall away in crazy and complete unique comparison – nobody’s fault but I, while we sit and watch her stare and glare and start at violently crying again and over again and they just must force themselves to slip away and to miraculously watch our marvellous after-strike

I know that it has been coming and I sure do feel what it might be like, when it feels you right the entire way back across egotistical surrounds and sounds all of the noise down, down, down

Oh my, these brush-stricken, multi-lingual brushstrokes of mere and exceptional brilliance – it shall, all of it, catch up to us just one sycamore day and radiate like something’s been wishing upon our longest lasting dreams

I’m sitting in my garden of broken dreams again and aiming for that sinking creation to balance back for one first time electrified by my might of power which never left even if it fails at finding itself right this minute midst every other mundane hour of every other sour week, month, insane-laden year