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the radiation of the world is one of supreme contact
whether you are with in or with out
change is a force to be met with courage
or to die in an existence that finds no name
Eyes inwardly drenched. There is always with in me a pulsating regime of pain. So faint and foggy so as to let me live and so faint and foggy so as to not.
Grace is not a word of me. But of my expression I wish. The smooth words to be expressed in my vocabulary as love is in my hands.
My eyes are a tease and an indicator. As my face pouts I act and bleed on to paper. Try my best to pull death from my whole. That is writing to me. A twisting of my biological cage to induce a reaction. Victory is when I describe my heart as a fluid and my hands a funnel.
What is it about writing? I can paint. I can draw. But when I write, I feel better. I imagine that maybe it is because everything I speak is never properly articulated. I would never expect anyone to wait for that to happen. So when I have the time to be concise and accurate about what I truly think and what I truly feel, even if no one reads, it is liberating.