I swear to God I am the king of the nonbelievers. Please, believe in my actions, for they are the only things that spark realism in the dream-like haze of the the plane that, to the mentally stable bears a look of disdain. Inside the minds of the crimminally insane lives the love that cannot be expressed, so it is therefore impressed upon us. Daily to monthly. Monday to mundane. As the creative juices flow out of us like residue, I view the fight for our minds is past due and due to the circumstance I can circumvent the system and flip it on itself for the pancake story that it is. Raising the curtain on the injustice of our justice. The slavery of our freedom. The inhumanity of our humanity. Just so that it may, pave the way, for a new hero to fight for the cause. That intelligence overcomes ignorance, but recieves little applause. That happiness comes from within, and within that line lies the lives of the righteous and the wicked so be quick to pick the perspective that tends to quicken as the pace immediately flows to the mind of the souls. The chosen holes in which the love flowingly goes. I suppose that the proposed idea that God is us, a trust bus of everyone plus, is just that. A busted rust of misplaced lust so I thrust my submission and submit to the minions ot the leaders' diminished precision that I am a person and personally, hell and heaven seem to me a fairy hook wrapped in a horror book trying to explain with pain how to live your life when plainly I can tell the question on my mind is what is life? The constant strife between man and God or the consistent complication of sophisticaion that contemplates the hate inspired by man's God? I leave it to the critics, who like crickets chirp in favor to the pale moon of the truth, sitting in the confessional booth, waiting fora sign that it's time to unwind and seek the justice that is said to be blind, and ask them to listen.


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