the seed, vulnerable and exposed as something untouchable, awaiting the time when it sprouts, an embarrassing almost, a space of time all for its own promanent silence. the space in between two inseprable  finger prints. look down at your palm, it shows you only that you are.  leave these hands tonight and bury your old hair on the moon. everything ive asked for is already here, found. and lost all over again with the new set. sunsets are not junkies of any sort, i live for them, but they take no disrespectful noun.  the moon is in charge. the sun has tornados the size of all we roam. souls lost.. its not so hard, limbo, seventeen years just testing the stick over head, determining every move. i just want you to dance with me. i wont ever stop saying that. i just want a friend. a single form of cells just for my attention. i was fortunate to be synchronized with the highest of heavens of human there ever was, he was god. he could be anyone, anything he believed. if he didnt believe it himself then it was no good.. can i at least have second best. why am i here, lead me to the reason, the certain cloud grey enough not to fall out from under me, but high enough just to taste the winds.  untill then ill just keep on sewing. being my own best friend is a full time job. time is not even near my side. funny how its gone when you are undoing.. so much energy saved up, but for what, who? theres nothing to look forward to in these last days. fear is advertised, rather than conquered for a higher understanding of remedies to keep on fucking going, flush the pain away, smile and think the day away. for what you understand, learn,and fight while alone, you will utilize in a more communicative time of life. missing pieces. will and have already been found. the echoes make you seem closer the farther they rickochette. these scatter brained thoughts come a place where i shouldnt be, which is all around, and to come and gone. theres no way i felt you today. i could really go away. but this place, accumulated with outside material, unconnected things, is my life. Dear Love, blind and black, pace your way, to me.