Decided to chop it up for this weeks entry.


    I’m lifting, living in mystic visions, a picture image of purple pigeons, a pit of pills to pop till depiction of life is worth living, my body’s full of red like Pippen, I’m bleeding my heart is out and I’m fucking twisted, I’m gifted with sight, to see height but misfitted, cause my existence, is searching for purpose through right, the passage is packed with passive persona till found upon perfect, so the words are misplaced upon perception, and only pondered by the chosen persons, the perp is trapping the purpose, partially blinded, unable to cross the portal and curtains, curses corroding surface, serpents searching for service across, while I’m just searching for gods or crosses to show a cross between me and god