There is, of course, a turbulent dream there. We have a supposed written world, and with it comes a sort of discourse. There, they say, is the grammar hall that haunted their later lives. In the sort of weaponized deconstruction of a rather well meaning portion of the stubborn little faces. It must be a silent one, and one day I will rest as well. We will all rest in a feeling. There is a necessary beast with many heads, rather gracious and well meaning. We have not discussed the level that had bound me to this quest, and as such I must describe that as a given time.
This is the eventual value, and the fundamental kind of warranted time, made to be badly weathered for the other sorts of kings. These kings are wrapped in festive wrapping, granting wishes for all because the weapons have finally become the lifeless bodies they were meant to be at the beginning. These people are glad the restaurant is still standing, so they can sign their cheques over to the other ones. We do not have a better world than this. There is neither an answer nor a reason to be found in the following letters, nor can they be watched by just anyone - you must be a special kind of seeker to find me here.
There must be a poetic reading of this, a kind of drunken fear that wraps my mind, turbulent as the weather goes. As she wished, we left the apartment. There was a sudden jump in my mood and the lights of my childhood brought me, forever impaired, to a place where I could stand to live no longer. There is a rather bothersome wrapping to this work, a sideways gash in my sternum where the stubborn notes never bothered to run. I could not see this, of course. There was only phlegm and body parts strewn across the lawn.
There must be a better note, something to write home about. There must be a whine withering within us, light as the notes they wanted. We cannot pause within that, as the servant can be replaced, so can the leader of the world. This is better done through safe measures, and that is what people like about this place we are in now. There is an illusion that our President is a fair and honest man. I cannot believe the rather dull note that came second.
It was scribbled on a piece of paper folded and wrapped in the sort of bible that watched me. I could not be sure of the purpose, just that it folded it’s weather like a direct decedent of the chocolate kind. There was nothing to it, really. Just the sort of weapons that watch the little kind burn. It helps that at any moment I can float away in my mind, curious of different things. There must be multiple places to go.
Whenever the hope comes, it dwindles and falters as I have another cigarette. The fact is, I am a broken person, hanging on to tobacco for dear life. I must make a better world than this for myself. I must believe in my mind and defeat myself in this addiction. The smoke is not the answer. It takes self control and discipline. These are the most important trails I can head down. We have no reason to believe it will hold me forever. I can live without them.
The manifestation of peace will take forever, and that is a good thing. There is a weight within me, that holds me to this way of life. It has taken on a life of it’s own, and the pain of not being held by the peaceful grip of nicotine causes greater harm than smoking. It is hurting me. I used to want to die, but not anymore. Now I am happy and want to live. I enjoyed the five hour break between smokes today. I want more time like that.