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if only the hotrod stopped here

It may seem poetic, prophetic perhaps

I love the way it cripples me
its always the same as it penetrates
too far to be able to feel
itches so much it starts to hurt
but so good,
scratching only the mind
and without body,

one starts to feel

enjoying only a beyond, a gone and a never to be

magenta itch
you only feel to believe
but crippled
clinging to feelings of a body
its only done for yourself

its funny how reality always comes harder, how it forces you into being
massive amounts of remorse and.... so of just being!!??
so its only in us all to just let go, but we don't know when feels right?? forever afraid to fall, ever just happy to let being, by, live, smile and feel. So we cling. To negatives that are not so then but are as a cumulative
just needing to be accepted hurts more than torture itself
save for all the smoke


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inside and out

and everywhere like a rubberball in an open field

given too much freedom to realise you are trapped by your own confines

of realism

of excepted societal norms

of the now

wanting only to be held too tight
shown freedom to just be

to dance

gripped by the loops of mind
grappling to hope, salvation

of a different view

of how once you were

and now
wish to be


without a home
not fixed as the root seems
never feeling alone


to find a goal
shaped passed a measure once thought
freedom of moment

to sleep

and to dream of

behind the veneer

i apologise for mistakes i make
my haste and sense lose time and belief
i drop from space
allowing only thoughts and touch
mechanic motions that are not present

my being is whole without my mind present

i lose the moment around me
and sometimes it saddens me

i grasp
try to breathe it in

get lost and cycle within

without me i am not myself
to my loss?

to yours?

so i hide