I’m not sure anymore more, who is knocking at minds door,door. All the people I thought I knew take my kindness for weakness. You thought I was bulletproof, that I don’t hurt too. We all have problems but your problems child are alot bigger than you.

It’s that season of your spine, that you caught swine flu, fell to the pew, got mad we sad, it’s a funeral at church, where is the view? When will you a wake to see who is viewing you. Why do you care you can’t see what we see, feel what is not real, to know that death happens when we do not awake to the challenge.

Step to the plate, but hate the steps to take the different brush strokes to paint the imagery of view that we want people to see but try to keep from view. You can’t hide beauty, in blue. The mind paints in bright colors, idk, what are my views?


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