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im your neighborhood spaceman

transitions not so sweet, will wet the feet
small souls given over to the hive is but all we are
sick to the teeth the hate and the love is so bittersweet
pain in the brain aches in the heart
glory is all that is sought, after all

what else is there??

but waiting for change, chasing the same yet knowing that each hold is different with each new grasp at the branch that sits above, so close to reach, yet so far

whole bodies not real, time and space co-exist, mind has gone to feel like strands of the time that has created it, an itch that runs so deep that only the mind feels it can scratch.

is this sweet? pain? torture? self mutilation of the most narcissistic, masochistic kind?

joy? or anguish of the heart? cries for help or leaps of love?

how do we know, but if not to experience and to hence forth decide, analyze and ponder within and on.

if there is no path to tread then we feel lost having only the space of our minds to exist upon. its tangible feelings that we want, something real that can be held, shared with all in the same context, this is what raves were, all in all the same feeling held tight as though it were real and would last forever close to each and all as one but so distant

is the world going to change me, shape me or show me anything for that matter? why should it? have i earned? do we need to, why cannot it just be given? perhaps it is. easy. simple.

i feel inactive with so much buzz around me, the hive affects us all


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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


perhaps it is only given in small doses.
never freed,
allowed to be whole.
pieced together by soft touch.

wet with alone its peace a happiness alive.

facing never pain
i am