I don't want anyone to confuse me with the truth, this is the share of the case, which my influence on the world makes me a historical figure, taking it in stride at length, they who know my secret are a many and daren't tell, not for fear of me, but what has become to wit or which I have risen, was raised, convenience of every form of entertainment, from when the days of boundless creativity now are binding creations, the kings of earth, the pen of a people, and i can tell none, not for lack of witful trend or flippant cliche, and that insanity mine pales compared to saying it out loud, and they know I've tried, but not hard enough. It's a paradox to want for better or worse, and yet it'd probably be part of sharing a question and tea with this infuriating bliss, the moon has fewer hits adoring the sun, and still anyone who knows me doesn't know me, and everyone does. Learning how to slay her enemies, studying code for learning Android at my sandstone quote as to for we all glimpse, and to know instead when my head clears of her for myself...
This throne of madness empty doublets, where many have tried to call this audience, the good and many who i deride to ofyn make the core of the earth from the burning frames of modernity, if such exists, as continents drift, as well as politics shift with points to make it bones to grind, as was your wish, as still ever still every fate over time's path to know not how to want you without station in the waking world, with poems to history, and screams at the sulphur lined clouds the heart of a fallen night sky tearing for silenced imports of useless sunrises and summer breeze, overthinking the plans of the voices and some choice to abandon soon of reckoning in the blinding of a beautiful sunset to fill my world that the censors mistakenly would be fools to never know...
The days summon this fool their brother to burn and yarn the nest of plots and ploys, to gather and give, and clean myself, gaunt and baked duly or fitfully what is the lost energies that threw me from dark horizon to this futuristic past of lies turned true, or some could say the truth of lies acting like jesters to such exists, in recent i chose to be ordained for a donation and found it free and lessons not, why is this always the case, so now l'enfant sauvage from whom thoughts are passing penance in likeness to the devils that run all hell about, am now a druid after considerations, saved lest so ovate as now, and bard as now you know, my mind drifting this must be told I've felt perhaps the times are changing and this changes the ouroborus plan now chasing thoughts to understand, but do find it shorter than an autobiography...
Maybe i fear knowing myself everyday, instinct, take the grass to your blue skies as opening the eyes of stars rest of dark are without knowing the power of the dreams they forget, with warring planets over the metaphors lyrical the empress has no empire and the scrivener is lost.