Followers

Wednesday, 15 March 2017

How I Was

Delusional fear I adhere to, and in a thumping rage - my flat like a cage, I curse and swear aware that I am talking to myself, but in stealth, on my own, with home grown tendencies to insurgences of communicating, disregarding my health, as insanity takes a hold; I am so bold to have the alter told, arguing and denying the trying of sanitising the patronising, and as we whisper, talk, argue, shout, we bout in words and aggressive behaviour of paranoia, as in who's watching, listening, talking, on the TV and radio, my voice wants to know, and in a mode, it does decipher a mood to choose, as we smoke in hope, while trying to cope, but struggle in principle, as in whose morals rule the mood of the passing and lusting of the day and night, sometimes in fright, from their flight of one's blows to ones face, a pace of gravity mentality, as I become harassed by a sum of characters with different behaviours, sometimes fateful, other times grateful, a sight to see, in these words of testimony.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 15/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

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