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It Almost Was A Seance

wilky said it best the characters enter and everytime they enter it goes like this

deet doot deet deet doot deet sipping on a snail's shell slipping on the tar brush

forgot what it was i was even going to say it is almost as if it is all in a picture frame

the endlessness of time to waste and how to make the most of it lost thoughts fall

away like a diamond at the center place of the sand caving in, perspective of the

hourglass from above the surface of the face the mirror hand swept before becomes

enveloping madness things lost in the abyss everytime a distance every distance a

timeless sentence complexities clocked in both ways the same, it spins where the

sand falls through the floor in bigger circles now the room drawn out the chalk laid

down the salt spilled the crucifixes, up or down, will it be silver or gold will it be eyes

spread gutted promise me this focused depth within each conversation forgiveness

I am far from it and further away than hands could grasp a sonnet for the destruction

here once more only for complete disillusionment better oft left to drawers hidden

light escaping to forge on through & through wherefore unto each and one, who are

you, what shall it be then the conversation to be made complete, tonguing cheek

these riddling things, where are we to go to just be, where is it someplace to believe

silence as the grand epiphany and lust for to live by, the mind, wants out, are you down

take me to where it is you want to go right it is nowhere gives and find all to be circumfrance

radiant abundance where is it we shall find it then one more place to meet againe one

more dusk to break the dawn one more note to finish the song for the songstress please

nightengale please all of this useless meandering tearing at the seams tearing apart the

mind it bleeds through the eyes beautiful they are in disguise beautiful they are in the light

beneath the night sky beneath the sight the consciousness it flies toward goodbye to war

good night good fellow good futures endeavor could not find a more bitter hand to play

could not find I in the field of man what it is to want to be somewhere again with someone

find the past and dig a trench bury the morning in a song you hate it sounds good for a

moment and then the moment wasted the sound in haste drifts away from the mind it made

what it is to be creation creating itself creating creations to laugh at time in the glass spun

spinning like the diamond, is it without or within, dropped through the hatch unto Death

standing between the doorways oft found again, hand against the wind, just for to feel

the vast expanse of nothingness at the precipice of life to begin once more, furthermore

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