It’s personal, universal, my verses versus hers, conversing in hurting, singing stings into chords, striking accords with your guitar strings called, all these shattered hearts and broken hymns of sorts, in and out of courts, of course, he’s my spoken word thoughts.

He sees me, I see him. This journey fills with beats, rhythms. Witness to an aftermath, watching parts killing equals. He’s my singular circular but he’s into questing, requested sequels. I jest, offering kisses and caresses in exchange for his regal, there’s no rush so let it be, my sphere here is peaceful, waiting to be real.

Left with an empty vessel, trying to be strong. Disintegrating into tears, separating right from wrong. Ethics and moral codes, rules written into unsung songs, our subconscious belongs, but who will admit we’re connected when fate claims alternative bonds?  He’s collecting selected feathers sent from god, sending them on, my elected mentor, tearing my life from back to front.

Swore we were free of regulation, inoculated by innocence, in a sense, his every vibration fires into my spiritual resonance, destroying this habitual scent. It’s a tribulation. Another trial by simulation, calculating creations: he’s a revelation, my revolution in disguise. Relevant transitions, ever evolving, promise me a single promise: that you’ll always be mine…

ink is free, so...

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