(Speak this aloud) For life doesn’t stop

But My Year has died in the sense of its own. A playful suicide with fire within my memory brings a smile to My Heart because My Year was tragic. The mind of mine made the decision of regret without the permission from Myself just to make My Heart feel better. The Mind of Mine wasn’t thinking at the time but uses the excuse of honesty’s persuasion from whomever apparently. All of this is of apparently. “this is who I am,” others say. A stereotype is what this is of me and My year. Sense is now destroyed by horrifying grammar but can be restored by repetition I can barely remember My Mind chooses to do without permission is what I choose to believe because hell is a scary perception. What it is, is that of what is seen by others toward Myself still believed by me because a terrifying tragedy called experience had me believe that of me until reread by me of me, apparently but some nights of sometimes believed. My year and I; The introduction.

That which is of a something is which of that a hatred comes toward because of what that (something) is also of which is understood and misunderstood without confusion. To seem complicated but ever so simple is exactly who My Year is. My Year is how? To continue as straight forward as half way straight forward as possible, My father had optimism when with no choice, Upon my outlook of him was none. My father had optimism when with no choice, When it came to him this year it did not My father had optimism when with no choice because the corpse before becoming was divorce. 2 me the reflection of a funeral inside the belly of my beast sees itself at the same time being me is hard. With hope of a deeper meaning grasping Your heart and never letting go when then letting go; A man, goes through a year that he believes has forgotten him which who is What is metaphored toward his father but then actually remembers unlike him … Apparently. And so barely, a parent less; With Mother watch the crack burn the brain of a man she knew had and knows should still have. My mother and I without him, both being from the cotton pricked fingers, both had different Perceptions of how blood looks on cotton. In stored, cotton sees of us as saviors when in stores. Government inspired rigged cooperated machine system for money that which is of a something is which of that hatred comes toward because of what that (something) is also of which is understood and misunderstood without confusion to where that same thing is confusion...;-

Red and Blue

Red and Blue find fire

Red and Blue find no reason for fire

Until red came from The Man in Blue

Orange will be stained in the divided homemade heart We All Love And Numbers are/is stupid which is now forced to be understood in transparency that is completely relatable. Yet so gone with The wind that no one; No one realizes.

Red and Blue men in Black and White find reason for fire; until the polls fall and I clap my hands because there is no God that will be. Decide for him, The love’s lost people, Only because we are and I am. (The man behind the curtain comes out) “The Ending”, he says “Home of who”, they say “Our Home”, I say; Do you understand dumbasses For 20$ a month, Thank America, For people died in my fucking year full of arouse And that has been The in America

Hallelujah to the Harambe influenced specimen In the smallest way we are were for aren’t we all The problem is to me is we are not being anymore and I have no idea what’s up with that and Amen? Think about it *snaps* But I haven’t been scared by the slightest. The robots rise with oppression for domination has dominated and what not. Find a Job and speak with assertiveness; my friends?! Alcoholic bottles have already burst upon graves so what do you have to lose? Closet my of…inside bone’s membrane is ancestor tears and the future seen by them apparently to a man who wants to believe that bronze skin and nappy hair was. An Awkward Oscar Speech When Slid Drink A Man With Bronze Skin And Gray Hair Combs 2 Mind To Shed Another Tear Across The People Who Give A Damn About Emptiness Inside. Hazelnuts rained for a day then forgotten, then remembered to tragedy and reality. And Now… An Analogy on America... Are we not open to the doors, Are we what we find in lamb? Doves died for taste. “Satisfaction WILL DIE”. Said less assertive. THE END.

This poem is about: 
My family
Our world


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