I'm without an axis today. I'm eating frank over-emphasis like I need to silent the proudly aware of our tongues as hammer-versatile pity-pleases all set back a day on their sleep cycles. I am not in liberty.
I ate an apple found near a snake. I ignored the dang bites right on its upturned side under a spiny wilderness tree.
I thought it wormholes. I ate it all. Seeds to disperse according to my constancy. I ate he tree and the snake but I ate it up. Better to put it down in broke states from spittle laced verdant mouth. I own the whole global thought pattern. And you don't need a doctorate in suicidal thought to understand everything I say. I mean it. I wrote a hate poem once. There is love in it, too, and I hate the fragility of light and font in this dark lofty thought habitually stoking the embers and stoking undercover cops. Why I sit and in a haze I bother or to score top in explaining. I come down