Life looks to its preserver
The director of living looks to the artificial, along with the irrationality of all fears.
The polaroid which captures my visage has peculiarly amalgamated me into what I am, through what i wasn't.
The feeling plies apart my insides gradually.
My brain invalidates me correctly.
My eyes become the fog that moists the skin.
My mind continuously collides melancholy into broke prose, I tire of.
Versatility, I forget.
The perished, I terribly remember
When it all flutters and it awakes with celestial excellence, I seethe at the color that holds my memories.
The cellar in which I sit with malleable metal shifts impossibility on my unbound wrists.
Nonsensical, yet sensible in procession.
Though it plagues my day with prolonged emphasis
It hangs on the tongue and falls stealthily into my notes.
I wobble against all that uplifts me catching myself in your smiles im unsure of.
Ill crack one too, to embody what I hope to be myself.
Not an act amongst an act,
But motion within fleeting feelings.
