Summer gusts of wind, blowing my mind in all directions, finding my way into many dimensions of mathematical formulas.
Accelerating toward pathways of ingenuity, hoping I may attain a breath of fresh air before I expire in a cloud of dust.
Seasoning nature as it falls into line with becoming attitudes of stubbornness, hanging onto life lines of believing so I may pass from earth to the hereafter without missing a beat of my heart in spacious moments of life.
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Feeling defeated, dejected, abysmally hopeless in a situation of life, diminishing ineptitude, alone in a perfect storm, looking for the lull I expect to come.
Abnormally, it isn't in the forecast and I continue to rain on my mind, as it cleanses itself in poetical precision, blending with an intellect of poison, inscribed with a tattoo of pious forgetfulness.
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Staring into starlit skies, wondering if I'll ever be able to travel to their spaces.
Thoughtful interludes creep into my mind as I figure out how I can move about without oxygen or gravity.
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Sitting alone, thinking about nothing and everything at once.
Separating and blending every abstracted thought, connecting each one to musical notes filled with colorful emotions and memories etched in photographic pictures of thought.
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Chasing away a myriad of doubts, stalking me interiorly.
Wondering if I'll ever be able to concentrate on needs that are pressing me agitatedly throughout life.
Standing alone, rightfully weighing situations and circumstances
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Life-long ambitions flare up and want to be fulfilled without reserve, yet we ignore them and find other things to occupy our minds.
Much to our detriment, later on in life, as we struggle doing things we'd rather not be doing.
In the end, regretting our forlorn decisions and merely existing in an abandoned corner of our worlds, alone, forsaking even ourselves.
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Reaching words in picturesque thoughts upon an inner screen, taking them in and out of context, whittling away, placing them into extraordinary circumstances to see how they stand the test of intellect.
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Soothing calluses of my mind with balms of writing through music.
Tell-tale signs of repetition circling endings of life, bringing them back around for the second time to be remembered and held close for a while.
Bringing tears to mind afterwards, flowing downstream and into vaults of steel.
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Falling into depths of interior imagination,
swimming among it's blue, crystal liquid
waters, touching the feelings hiding beneath
it's surface.
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