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IS IT ME?


The way she carries herself with dignity.


Her back pocket communicating everything.


Self respecting innocence is forthcoming.


Devout loyalty an undying quality.


Vibrant curiosity.


Delicate but bold bravery.


Her ferocity devoid of reasoning.


Gently waiting for the opportunity to grieve a broken haven she was entrusted with stewarding.


Intellectuality unmatched by interests in diversity capturing her intrigue as she breathes forth creativity as music the instrument she is holding rings forth her soul vibrating an acoustic desire to acquire an admirer of higher virtuosity. 


She is blameless and even less bossy then she could admirably be for she understands things better then anybody with an open heart that sings with songs that bleed for a reality suffering the faults and failures of previous entities that she seeks and wishes to be inspired with every breath they breathe sent from her leaves refreshing breeze.


A reformation is coming perturbing the governing bodies that are conspiring against their own countries by cleverly indenturing citizens within corporate slavery.


How does she ensure such a thing without weakening her knees and collapsing under the pressure of grieving such atrocities for crying is not even momentarily satisfying.


Contentment in apathy is the disease that breeds indifference towards the tragedy facing a planet that suffers injury from constant fracking reverberating waves of vapid energy resonating across her shores. 


Paving corridors that lead her residents to their whoring chores.


What a course?


She does not raise her voice in hate.

She does not praise.

She does not ignore. 

She waits patiently for more.


A culture lacking representation in court.


How unrepentantly her children are living!


She is weeping as we reap her precious pulp a bloody mess we consume with every gulp.


What a horizon of haze, she can hardly breathe, she’s dead and dying, she’s run out of tears for crying, she is lying on her bed, head waiting for the ending that is coming.


We are culpable for stealing her soul and body in whole.


— — —


Who is here to console me for the toll I’m taking, having lost my agency, a victim of lustful acquiring, I’m needy?

I’m greedy.


Pity me, please, my Gucci bag is to heavy with money I’m afraid to give to the beggar before me.


It is onerous privilege to which I am clinging, afraid to lose the generous agency that is my undoing. 


Unmoved by housing crisis’ that haunt humanities unconscious memory. 


We’re cracking open her crust as our virtues rust.


Our Tesla needs more thrust from lithium less sustainable then oil by a factor of three.


What’s left to steal in lustful greed?


Let me consume the body of innocent beauty within children lacking agency, nothing more priestly then pedophilia to hide a disease of gay chastity. 


If homosexuality were licensed within catholic community would children need raping?


If babies were born beyond financial constraints of liberal living within conservative homes that burn of loneliness filled with carbohydrates to anesthetize the pains of hate would judication collaborate against corporate agencies that provide freedom of access to abortions that perpetuate rape community silencing the cries of unborn beings that bring beauty to unknown families whose infertility is a benefit and not an injury. 


Who am I to say?


I’ve forgotten my humanity.


I’ve forgotten my humility.


Grieve for me.


I’m hubris ignorance.

I’m the face of arrogance.

I’m prideful indifference.


Lord what’s the difference?


General order delta has failed me. 

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