Tes Tos Ter Own

Dunno, random thoughts.

 

My thoughts are fixed. My words are broken. My eyes are wide with the establishment of matter upon matter. Soliloquies dart from my fingertips in white flames. A diesel engine hums my inner vibration is no singular entity, but a choir of voices shouting out all their things, knowledge, knowledgeable, screams my inhibitions. My exacto-knife purges clean my disgruntled brain onto table-edge falls of from my paper the words spill like syrup or honey out of the darkness hole. Suppose I know where all of us go, but I won't say. Soliloquies pour from my pores as sweat from a hurricane, novacane, no such sane-ity can bear the truth I dare to swear. Soliloquies. Point. Match. Light the fire and feed the flames of anything, everything I can say, could say, won't say for withdrawal symptoms of misunderstanding.