I could be on the road, lying there waiting for a change to happen that would break apart the mental ties I hold with the world, hoping they are a simple silk ribbon. Shining blades of teethed steel shearing through its soft body leaving small tails behind, softly broken and yearning for another body to cling onto, cut through my mental state slowly evaporates.

I should be lying in the road waiting for the angel of death to whisper the tales of my life in an epic tale.

The story of how a boy lost it all and never came back to his right mind, the quiet storms that went through his mind and slowly became blank canvases awaiting an inspired stroke of colorful intention, one day this will be my tale written in black ink and raw emotion.


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