This journey life its called this karma free for all back and forth a saviors hell attempts to speak to tiny angels.
In the lore place mats on my table protect the meal from wear.
Understood circumferences worn back and forth never ends.
Perhaps that's the plan after all? I write my journey keep track of all those notes.
Plans for the future watch ocean tides chances for revival blossoms on a tree.
I see tomorrow and me.
I spread my wings fairy dust does coat each stroke miracles tied ever so cleverly with a shipping vessels ropes.
Pelted with regret at times undefined yet meeting too much definition.
Keep it still float that boat lift up my sail bitter past bitter note.
Lift up that sail now, tomorrow and me.
Tiny angels that bleed Angels never used to fall.
One fairy stood her ground she stayed for me.
Gathered ideas posted their lessons weighed claims.
Rolled up useless stored it anyway.
Each trial she met an architects drawing have to understand perspective or buildings will fail.
I feel the edges I scream that dream so I can hear it.
Decode its secrets.
Five bottles left they contain my rhythm define the borders at all cost.
Past rules and decisions I define my fate.
If I don't watch myself I will walk all over stomp in the ground that designated pathway without a humble sound.
Hope in the seeing sameness as an enemy dig out those worn down pathways dusty plans redesign their voices hear them clear and every single day reject their fading dots.
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