to be forgotten.
this is home.
words evolve over time and through languages, the power a tongue has,
divorced from existence.
love always feels the same, every time, regardless of the inflicted, it's
everything to everyone.
the losing battle never is the totality, who said anyone is special,
keep it casual.
definition in the world tells itself to all things, ghosts whisper in our ears,
interpret thinking differently.
humanity forgets we are only just manimals, dog's best friend in return,
naturally the same.
this is no life for the wild, afforded by being posterity's price to pay,
popular people avoid.
burning bones of our ancestors, inherent combustion, internalized rage,
unstable explosion exchange.
nature expected to kneel can be a painful lesson, necessary to be conscious,
close to discovery.
shame and rumors, cluttered and nuanced, put in too little of a good word,
dialects of yesterday.
never questioned traditions, man's fragile universe of glass card houses,
nothing as unabsolute.
this eye for detail, this offensive of dignity, this unexcepted receptivity, this
cost of living.
this world in rhythm, everything it turns, those bound by the same dance,
in macabre motion.
if every school of thought can be wrong, how do you land on a curve,
not be forgotten.
speak to me of untold meaning in a word, of the familiar unknown,
this is home.
About the Creator
⸘jason alan‽
:::WARNING:::
i am only responsible for what i say,
not for what you understand.
you may learn to be charmed by my [secret‽] discontent,
or you may not.



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