October 8th

Amen, amen, as I shout from the walls of an ever-changing brain lining, and I shout it with the innermost disbelief. By the way, I see it; I only have three years to find out what’s right about me, and what has yet to be corrected. Chamomile lotion coaxes my arms into relaxation when I cry out loud to whatever is in the sky, or sitting on the ground. Dare I say that I felt the weight of everything upon my soul, yet when I looked inside, I only found the burden of a system of thoughts. Possibly lies. But to question existence is to question energy, which can not be done, simply because energy is the question. So thereforoe I shall simply sit, and I shall wait, and I shall listen. I will flex accorodingly, and withdraw to the beat of whatever rhythm constantly repeats. Boom boom.