Lying on Grass
Lying on grass with a rushing cool breeze were hands resting, relaxing right under my head that was filled with cracked resin.
Planning on resting reclined, interrupting me was an approaching familiar speech that I've read and I recognized.
Rolling ideas revolving on through in my recesses, bravery rushed to the forefront and had me then run my tongue.
Rolling and rolling my tongue kept on frequently tripping towards left and then right. My mistakes upped and reared up reproachfully.
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Now as that speech returns closed and removes all that weight, my mistakes, after wringing the rest of the stress off my chest,
Rested itself to reside and take residence in my reaches. Resurfacing rotten repressed removed reaches.
Rousing repression surrendered. Embarrassment, ill-preparation, hauteur clothed as pride, reservation not given but forced to be taken;
Worst of it all was the raising enraging self-hatred and anger that built up inside. Repressed by remorseful thoughts.
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Much could have reined the pre-reign of the rogue ever roaming reminders of failure. Rage against self bottled shut for its ripening
In barreled rind meant to red and procure the most wrathed concentration of drunkening torpor to bleed in skin ruthlessly.
Having been wrung out for years, what squeezed out were impurities. Wrapping alchemical fire surrounded the residue.
Some who think they themselves right would recoil at this and require respite, but for drunks reddened eyes they'll receive.
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Truth be told, I am a drunk with aged rage. Liquored bitterness rolling past forested buds bringing frightening words to mind.
All rationality's relative, strictly restricted to stripped away straits that were strewn and were strung, left astray longways.
If what is tried and is trusted is truth, then through trial has my trembled entrenching enragement been trailing triumphantly.
Loitering rage, liquid latent with wrath, lulling lament arisen on leaned porous rafts: you have levied your rancor.
















