I Bet We’ll Never Know…

There are a few things that I think we will never quite know.  Some of them are beliefs as to what the Universe is and the ideas of God.  There is also the notion that there are some people that we will never know.  Some people’s idea is to meet everyone and as many people they can.  The ideas of Earth though hold 7 billion people.

This then seems to pull at dreams that teams of horses must pull me away from.

The ideas come from within, and though I’ve yet to shed my fear and sin, it’s clear that I’ve taken some dreams and thrown them in the bin.  I neglect my friends and kin, and while I try to spin a world into a notion to sip a potion, the oceans hold more than most humans can ever have foretold.

The mould of the cold stare I feel also spins the wheel into the pins that feel like needles.  The fact of my own existence is to sense more than I can recall.  It’s like they want to wall me out of the life that I wish for, and though they fish for compliments, the intents also are to not fall into control dramas.  Like one of the llamas, I natter and blabber, and think that sometimes I try too hard to matter.

They scatter the seeds to the wind… needs pinned up on the wall as to bills and debts, and though the pets need to go to the vet, it can’t be afforded yet.  The life we live is one in where some do choose to give, yet some wish to hold onto all that they can.  A plan to skip the tip and share the wares of the shoreline with a series and sign to incline a trine.

Held in the meld… some spelled out the foundation, yet the exhalation of breath found death in a cradle of meth.  The links to Beth too hold the mould of how some don’t do what they’re told.  Won’t I just fold up like origami and torch my own fields with the anger of the flesh and how I wish to mesh, yet still seem to think that I should evade every link and abstain from the tears of Stain.

The rain calls from the stereo, and though the secant was in a cos form, the Italian language forms the ideas that will traverse and disperse the sediments of intents and find that some rent’s not been paid.  The ideas laid out to the sprout also find the grout to hold the ideas that are lost along the waves of the sea.  Ironically, the TV is what shows the flows that God tows along like the raft of this craft.  I have no clue what I should aim for or do.

I have wanted to earn money from my music, yet wish not to have to self promote.  I have lived freely like a goat, and still feel shackled to the tree of self.  A shelf holds the CDs, and though the trees are not consume, some have fumed and stained the glass.

Pass on the fly in the web with the True Cyber Ebb and how they also want to know how what to do, and for who.  True cannot and must not be a goal.  The full union of my soul though does release control and share that the niece knows not of the foal.  A compressed idea of carbon also melds a Mox that needs a land to be discarded.  I have hardened my heart for the fact that it seems there is no part for me to share and feel real love or glee.

I am a sapling that (sometimes) wishes not to be.  Poor me trip, so don’t let it grip on yourself and what you think.  I’m just a contialitic link that appears to find that shed like blood in the thud from the upper atmosphere.  Clear to hear that no one can be held quite as dear.

A friend sang a song yesterday that’s lyrics spoke of how I’m based upon hatred.  They also seem to understand that very few wish for me to land in their hand.  I am one who cannot even find a good or solid thing for which to stand.  I have not supported or acted the way the church wishes me to be.  My friends seem to find that I don’t chill or share interest, and that it’s often what I want to do, instead of thinking of their wants too.

The pacts of the QBlue also tell me that although I don’t have a clue or know what to do, that the lines are partly the things that I do.  So how can I help another set and renew their life, if they hate me?  I have no idea what to think of the keys of life that want to shut me out and remove me like the stain on the pressure washed grout.

Then again, don’t join the pity party of the sprout.

Then there also was advice to do things.  I want to write, so I write… I have not an idea who for sometimes, and where I mentioned scattering seeds to the wind, that’s very much what I’ve been doing.  Rocky ground…. Burned by the sun… No water… Barren soil

The rapiers seem to make the blood boil, and while I can toil on the keyboard, why would anyone like me, let alone have me adored.  I’ve been treated kindly by some, and that makes little sense too.  The crews and the dues that I don’t know how to pay seem to lay me out and away from even finding myself a kind word to say.

The text of the knight and day also find the Paladin to pray for healing.  We are sealing the timecell of input with too much soot in the wind.  Though they cannot speak of the plot that will find the certain state of mind, my soulmate must remember that I’m that kind of weird kid who knows the truth they want hid for the fact that some people are just a skid.

That is a harsh claim, though the aim is accurate for removal.  They told me they think all I’m searching for is approval.  The songs tend to send the world into how they’re only curled up well in their own belief instead of believing the truth on the reef.

A leaf of green in between the black with the red to lack some blue, even if the mental part is what they claim I evade too.  Moxes hold a from of deceit, and if you know what I mean, then no thank you to the chance to repeat.  The ideas bleat out from some kitten while I’m sitting in the chair.  Je n’ai pas un frere, and I’m okay with having no brother… the ideas of my mother may tend that some people have tried to change me to be their ‘friend’.  That is something I wish not to tend.

The stones and clones and zones where bones crumble fumble towards the mumbling fool that I am.  They said they like how I said “We each are a gem”, yet I have difficulty believing that now.  I seem to think that the plough tended the soil of the field, and the smell of earth was sensed.

What now, though, should I do.  If I want to sell music, yet want not to spam or promote, what should I do?  If I am okay with posting all sorts of videos on YouTube, yet don’t want the world to know, what should I do?  If I am not going to give up the Natalie dream, though know it’s one that I should never have had… What should I do?

It is in the bits and bytes that cross the rites to grow and improve and move past the kids of that plastered upon the wall.  They crawl back to y’all who still think, and though I am a person who is an awful link, why should I encourage another drink to share that there is yet to be an accurate and kind link to me from some of what I see.  They wish to time the rhymes as the idea climbs back into behaviours that the Saviour’s love did not take away.  How can I accept and love one who let such things go on?!!  How can that one persons death be the foundation for so many that don’t comprehend that it should be OUR love that we tend and send.

A sacred friend to lend the sands of time into the bands of rhyme while the dualland’s in the notion of a potion of a smile that was crossed across the countenance with such denial.

The sound file stopped, as the drink should be topped up to sup with the volume to expand and eject form where some people may wish not to sup.  The cup of drink to link the track to how some try to get in the back, which then causes me to want to attack, yet we know we cannot take away the way that some people play.  We can only aim to get out of the way and let other minds mix and mingle and pray….

Though we lay down to sleep with a warm feeling to keep, the sands that they reap also tell the belle to find that lined up in the kind of things that divinity brings to bring wings to the kings and let me be the one to help us as we orbit the sun.  I know not what I should have done, and note I still don’t know what to do, though that’s more of the story that they may wish to borrow so they can find their own dreams and cross me out and away from tomorrow.

Staying within the day with the nines to play the series that eight is to relay (when seven heaven’s okay) as the six to relay five more to four free with three to two one as the ideas of this post are now almost done.

Dot Dot Dot…. Skip the trip, yet still an idea to slip.


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