The mind, a dormant stone

Am I too young to have a heyday? I want to feel the motion of productivity clamp my hand, run with me and not let go. I feel like my skin is made of butter...nothing sticks. This ridiculous frown wears me. I want to slap it away and embrace the free that was my mind. Life is meant for dancing, experience, not control. Life is not to be controlled. It simply is. If we harness the rare "animal" that purrs in our core, we can live happily, without these traces of fear and confinement. We were meant to be more, yes. We were meant to be! As your breath lacks control, so you live and move on top of this sphere. You live and move, breathe, jump, squeeze, walk, grind teeth, impulse to feed ourselves...nourish the animal. Nourish you. It's the simplest of tasks. Just be. This is where I want my mind to pounce...back and forth, under moon or sun. As all things exist, I want me.

To Justin: We started the year dancing...and everytime I do so, I think of you. ♥ Hope you're still dancing. Keeping the love in my eyes...trying to be happy. Thank you for your closeness. ~JMWA

Looking at him today testing myself songs albums drawings of he me they the world he left. i heard the song. after his song i hear his song... were they always back to back? or is it just my perspective? canyon eyes dry as the desert sky stained red web around the retina now a crescent sometimes appears mosturizes the surface warms the core stems life.

She smiles, touching her wings, glances down. Such a large landscape surrounding her, nearly no time to caress it all. A soft satellite gaze from beyond the clouds, centered on this heart that sends shocks to the ground. A guitar chord strummed not nearly hushed, so tight the pull, the sound wakes the world. World yawns, stretches, searches for the strum until she catches their eyes,  unsure, confrontational... sorry to have disturbed, but this is her time. Time. Time. Time to ( _____ ) Wake up. Hands aware, this vein holding blood. A steady stream keeps her eyes focused to meet the new day, a new cycle of breaths to curl her toes, hum in her ears catch in wind blown blown, in this time where there is light. It dries her wings from the soaked tears to hold, hold, hold it near -- dry wings allow her to fly. Fly. I F L Y is it time. is it allowed. only once do i need to try to know my answer heaven or skies.

enjoying the Russian. happy to explore karma salvation just happy. how did you know?

This is it... it scurries along my chest. Animals run -- hidden in the rain, waiting for a hollow. A small target. I hide. Want to witness the blood pouring, mesh on mine