this isn’t going to be a pretty prose but don’t get too close otherwise you might be dosed of sparkly juice with fructose and ending up doing the grosses 🤢
that was for arum tho haha, but we end up agreeing on:
Dear Child,
I hope you are mixed race 🙂
(davita, honestly the worst title you would pick?)
not sure where this is going, i might not write you a poetry but more like a sunday morning sad scenery.
is my soul half empty or is my soul unnecessary?
is the incense sending you petty or you pretending setting a confetti?
as i am writing this the moon outside cancels its haze;
am i the ego or am i the one playing fire with the echo?
on which altitude again is this lenticular clouds stationary forming?
right,
do you grow big through this scenario or it's just the way you are when you're overgrown?
i know that life brings you uncertainties, and life only gives you less healing capacity every time you spin away the angular momentum incorrectly.
but how do i know which kinetics could put me in an ordered state? moreover, if i shall receive or pass away the current?
this doesn't make sense too when there's affection, which leads into liability.
when you're a little much of the dimmed buzz.
when you're a little much of a B flat chorus.
when you're way much more of a one-winged doves.
Best,
there are times when being asleep is much more daunting than being alive
when you realize
the state of being
is none of your belonging
and the next morning
might sound less than
a bird chirping