manuscriptx
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Drag your mile across the tower; place your hand over my bottom lip. Tap the water coming from a wet shirt stained with an indirect empty space ten times the size of something dramatic that occurs only when a reader sees within a character a story that does something for the heart. The landscape gardener saw me fondling her inner ear; touching something sacred and passed out among many previous owners. These teases can become a subtle unabridged visit from the prying eye of Tim. Drag your feet into the temple; touch the hand of God; drain yourselves and from the mountain top scream atrocity; ferocious endeavors; unfair gamesmanship; one anxious thought had me forever. Is it unfair to judge someone on the basis of their skin color? Was it unfair for them to judge me on the basis of my past dying discretions? Waiting by the door, a man named Silver Ghost with a long list of demands wrapped around his neck made it his mission only to verify that I had not yet met anyone of the seventeen sins against nature. If I were to enter it would be a mistake. A real invitation meant that someone was on the inside vouching for my reconditioning. I could be rehabilitated. I could do good things; I just wasn't ready to forgive myself; forgive others; forgive the ones before me and the readiness of the hereafter. I don't judge. It's not my place to say to someone there's a time and be done with it.
Does God really mean it? Does anyone even care? Does it matter at all?
Life is one bizarre folded blanket soaked in mud. Life is like a pair of scissors cutting joy from the memory and inserting a state of being known as rapture. Less is more. Down is up.
Does God really mean it? Does anyone even care? Does it matter at all?
Life is one bizarre folded blanket soaked in mud. Life is like a pair of scissors cutting joy from the memory and inserting a state of being known as rapture. Less is more. Down is up.