so Here, once again, it goes... the last flagging in a trail of years gone by... that being said, thirty is quite uncommon, but not uncomfortable I think... unlike January, however, the turn of the tide into September is not without some peril perhaps as the new year begins... the thirty-first year advanced towards me, the gigantic clock ticking to thrust an impenetrable number into the mind, to be held until the time came for another chance to wonder what happened so far... that superior good advice....allowing me to seek refuge in the few days I have garnered for myself because of this annual windfall... not sensing that the weekend would be a solid jib into my pants... crocked by the remaining friends far removed for that true need to interact... songs speak the most for the words that could never be said by man nor beast, written nor otherwise in the seminal dimension that wealth brings about whether there is thought or doubt upholding this routed fairway wear that takes the cage, and shakes it a little more with rage and fear... I still find myself thirsting, but for what I ask, for answers that perhaps it could give me to break this spell... the deranged programmed thrilling yet boring twist at the end of every story, taking the emotive and immaterial breath away, and left wondering what creature comes next Here... this form cracked and craving the alternate world of words to a professional demeanor, or "cure" for the layman minds to take in, cured from what brand of immaturity do I ask... slide into September like a sloth, three toes that it lost a long time ago, a cost of fairly even weight the kind I cannot even Here demonstrate... what is another year anyway, which is to say this, but what has another man yet another year to live?... the solid concrete forms of His years, whoever this man may be in the future or past, a traveler nonetheless rehashed... the portals through which the laughing hold of mankind grips with fear the breast of its' own seers, prophets of divine effort somewhere... where can I go from Here, wonder towards the effort of inalienable rights, and maybe last rites left over from unkempt desires released from the deep?... from what cold depth could October bring?
Thanks, khet.
