Amount to much—the treat, the varnish. There is of course an eyesore when I look at my eyes, they make me remind myself of some sort of hurt, I was hesitant to call you, perhaps it was the Reddit posts. They told me to say hello the thoughts and the reasons, not to the ridiculous the people of the atom, the slapstick careful. The waist. The heathen. The curse. The chair. The Knausgaardian I envy, the vice the acceptance, yet the adherence to the keen, the eyeball the focus the laser and the whimsy, they'd perplex the work of it all, he herded it, west and smoke chain, and the contrast. Nameless.There is of course the glossing. The glossing that connects us.
There of course is the pacing I have to focus, I can't stop myself and its an utter shame, an utter release (there was a temptation to say "butter" but not so much). But hurt.But hurt is definitely my own problem.Nameless they can't take it from me.
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Nuance. (Stream of Conscious Poems Updated Weekly)
PoetryA bunch of rants and raves. Poems. Poetry. Alot having to deal with denial/acceptance of some sort.
