the presence of death— always present: motivation suddenly words flood my brain this could be your last. make it beautiful, pick something and don't amble languidly in wait or driven by my visceral heart infinity in the finite— that's what we are forget your mortality and you won't welcome new scars.
Pages, flat, wide mossy teeth just the inside a gut storing leftover unnecessaries quickies of joy—now lard simple devices: a pen creation: create or conserve your energy? make some great shit that I can read in 5 years never know or care for its greatness now just give me a reason to live THEN, when I need it. creativity [excitement] constrained to a glowing screen world: send your leaves falling your cold into my bones your waves into my ears show me something again I can love.