I speak the truth, there are those that take it with a grain of salt, it’s honestly the way I talk, though words are never catching fault. Pronunciation and exploitation along with the way different people phrase and say them, turn words into a sexual type of thing. For example, “I’m going to kill myself but maybe browse the holy book of psalms and maybe I’ll just heal thyself and spread this luck of potential wealth or turn a fucking phrase or two and wind up back at the gates of hell.” Words are poetic, a little hectic; they provide rhyme and reason or sometimes just some info to get you from that to this. Words can keep you guessing but there’s always a twist: Jack was nimble and he was quick, there was a cat in a hat, and Wayne Brady threatened to choke a bitch. This girl with an accent simply asked me a question causing me to turn brainless for just a few seconds. My brain sits intoxicated as it thinks of the many places that I have vividly contemplated, it really is quite amazing. And she is quite amazing, not someone in particular but as a whole, the female race. Just filled with wonderment and astonishment, something we can all admire, each writing their own fears and dreams and being able to publish it. See, words aren’t just in books and poems or the cover of a magazine. Words are beauty and art and everything we envision them to be. Words are powerful and magical. You can destroy planets and yet build universes with them. That’s why I write because words are beautiful and hurtful. They can be anything you want them to be.