Note too self.

NEVER write poetry when you are unsure of your heart.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

--William Butler Yeats

The Heat.

Smoke in the woods.

Unreadable.

Grip the fog to determine its contents.

A Creature stirs within.

Bear?

Wolf?

Man?

The Heat.

Something devours itself.

We spin 'round.
Never Stop.
Reeling and Weaving.
'round till we drop.
This Devils Dance.
a Prison Cell.
Legs begin to ache.
Who can we tell?

Broke my phone.

Got a New one.

Same number.

Call me. Txt me.

Something.

Because I am only answering for strange numbers for the next 48 hours.

After that, you SOL Broddah.

How does one be alone.

and not Feel lonely?

A mystery I still yearn to solve.

So many people tell me that it comes form being at ease with yourself, your inner person.

Some tell me it comes from being at ease with your spiritual facets. Feeling the Devine.

And some more simply tell me it comes from practice.

I am here to say, I am one of the few people I know who can look inside, and actually see and accept me, all of me. The Good, The Bad, The Past, The Pains, The Future, The Joys.

all of it. I love and accept it, because its me.

And i like me, call me vain if you like. But its the truth. I like me.

As for faith. Well...if you are reading this, you read before. And you know of my faith.

And I have been alone for over a year now.

Practice, I got.

so....Fuck.

Oh listen three sons of Hypnos.

Of your ranks, I despise you all.

Phobetor..... Phantasos....

Morpheus ....

Fuck you Morpheus...