#dkoa

Of course last time i looked i was knees deep before i even knew I'd drown, and when i rose out from where the waters swallowed the earths beauty, my body had changed forever, like in the days of Noah and the new soil emerging from dreamers dew. I was spring with a fever. & the ways of the people are to unfamiliar by now, I was forged and painted by the colours of a sun, to form part of a different tribe. How can you insist i follow a road i can no longer see? And i was light years away from your mind, and my dreams had encompassed the galaxies, and the galaxies me, I was destroyed. & i know the song of a dreamer who dreamed too much, so flesh and blood turned him over, and after years of unkempt ties and worn out eyes, rose to be king. I'm a slave too, my love is a river, and my heart an out of tune drum, but its still savage and worhty of love bearing, with every beat. Show  me the the pavement you feel I'm must tread, and i will show you bodies of water that had needed years of treading, but you loved the shore too much, as well as your thinking.  DKOA

...for the moment that i was given to explain my absence so as to excuse my behavior or present blithe as the doors swung open and then closed, furthermore,my wrists were broken , let the tears tell the story as they replace the ink on these pages . 'The Fools Heart' That's what it would be called. It would proceed to tell you about how my smile is stupid and im careless to dispute these things. Like count the minutes before i go to sleep and know the burden of keeping sheep tied all but in the mind. Nowhere else. I was inserted here. And as of young Inlove with the ocean, my emotions are old but my love still young, and they speak but i hear them as faint voices. Let us carry on. DKOA

& you don't know the sensation of tearing veins from inside, you know not the thoughts on my mind, how they are a treason to my own skin, and it seems my tongue has become nothing less than a grave digger these days, but i don't like the idea of death as the winner. I clash heads against Nietzsche, and how this world seems like his adopted son, rivers of woe is what you reap inside of me, where I've learned to keep my head above the water, but these drops are poison, i wont be floating for to long, and my hopes are a collapsed lung. To know its all an illusion, and to know there is no truth past the words you profuse. I can't tell you about the things i see inside my head, and I can't trust the silence that lies before me, like most things on city pavements and daily routines.