Awakened I with a sense of purpose. Yes awakened I with brightness and good ease. Up from the bed sat I and tumbled. Tumbled into the kitchen I wherein the breads were kept. Ate I from the fruitful stores that were granted me. Ate I and gave thanks I for such a boon that before me was lain. Rastafari, where now goest thee?

Elegant spoons ladled lappings of fair dripping liquids. Around my tongue they wrapped the falls of sweetest grippings, squipples of orange juiced with bits. There went he being I being still within and so still beaming his signal justly. Forgotten they had or hadn’t perhaps the answer would wriggle soonly.

However I had not forgotten. Memory my friend so sacred, touches me in time and tunes I. Succumb I to none when home-sat. Pursue we now a maiden laden somely. Truely wilts his stick so aching. Savage some and wander.

I was not aiming to jilt and roam. Set out not I to ache the trappings of a firstborn. To play pretend in dreams unending, these are thoughts once thought becoming. Try their bones with outward motions, salve with salted meats uncured.

Roasted I was undue hurtful. Posted I their grief untrue. Further from the farmhand reaching. Pulses pure a pimple’s priss. Roads across we’re always sharing. Worth the weight you measured well.

Clap your hands it’s only simple. Overthrow the twit within. Entwine benignly bleach canoodle. Simmer somely sit and grin.

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Love yourself
Not at the cost
Of another

Respect yourself
To the level
You would have
Another respect you

Measure your love
By the length
You would go
To secure it

If you would
Sacrifice yourself
In search of love

Prepare thyself
And will it
It will meet you

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Grim pretendings growing wilt. Fill it your cup with owings less like. Giving less likes lonely roaming. Roam alone in search of bone. Tyrone is home to many. Many make this roam their home.

Undulating quietly on the West side. Stories flow from pens caressed. Worms crawl out the holes possessed, and test a trammelled line so certain, run their guns through tunnels swiftly.

You’ll find worms in pockmarked holes whose souls are controlled only by the flow incessant worming. Maintain mediocrity minimally etching half-truths. Owing none now run your gun across and break through. Forsaken was I in sickness, now it’s left for you to lick this. Betray me not so sweetly. Loving you is half-good. See you once again I will not. Let this rot.

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