∆ Neural Alchemist | Self-mythologist ∆
After the storm
He cries
Having no honor in his display
So she lays around lighting sage like it’s a cigarette
He sweats now not understanding
He likes to talk
She likes to walk
She pretends she doesn’t feel his stutters
And he denies she knows where he comes from
Not knowing himself from the outside
He is
A natural disaster
If you’d prefer to sit there as I devour this holy pomegranate for my last meal
Then I wouldn’t bat an eyelash during grace
While the world is lovemaking to cope with flesh
I vow to touch the earth with the courtesy of life in mind
As you reflect the desert
Sandy and grit
The in-between
The more of the lesser
You’d be fine off asking yourself
Have you forgotten
And what are you willing to do to remember
I don’t like to yell
But I love to break the silence
To penetrate
It’s the first breath
The tip of birth
And you can’t find that kind of moment in movement and stimulation
Go silent for a moment
Svāhā!
Climax
Hands full of prana
Roar through your pores in the safest place
Feel the goodness and the horror
Accept it and become more than vessel
I don’t need to yell through pressure when I’m molded because of it
I like to whisper and pray in my head by my lonesome next to a river under a bridge or something
I don’t want anyone to hear me either, not now it’s too late now
And jokester is my middle name
I got it from my father and they got yelling from our mother
But I
I don’t like to yell
Slow connections make me uneasy, but perhaps they are the healthiest. Perhaps these passionate beginnings are tactics used for benefit by leeches and vampires. They tend to like my blood the most. Perhaps slow connections should be preferred. To see, trust and remind myself of who I am. Like one step at a time. An unknown. I’m not so sure what I’m supposed to be learning or doing.
Freegrandmaa 