I find that sometimes just typing until I can't anymore helps me process a new draft, so I decided to make a new canvas
I will not I will not I will not I
will now, I will not..this is how the last sentence of every poem I've ever
breathed came out. I will not move, hand like bloody pomegranates struggling to
paint a canvas like an etch and sketch, I will not breathe, breath the quiet
martyr author asking why I covet the decodings of the bible in whisper, u
mentioned that its a situation of a reoccurring rendezvous I respond that
between the both of us liquor brews in the pits of our stomachs waiting to
ferment all the deep shit that spit and split the canvas wide open. I will not
I will not I will not I will not I will not Continue to be a mockingbird
flocking to the legs of unpromised chains that bind my thoughts in inception,
bullet holes worser than unfinished products and your unfinished projects are
merely Mona Lisas in the making.
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