i won’t

this was nothing but me turning into a bone bridge that reached from Eden over the pyres’ of a burning hellish place. and don’t use my back or cloud dense texture of my words to pass over those fiery banks. Knowing me and the well tread path through monkey grass shenanigans behind me you would not follow or rely upon the scaffolding of my sinew and bones for transport. if ruin or brokenness is what calls then be satisfied that in seeing that you could only see persona and not the glimmering flecks of soul absent personality. that you see the lightless blight of harrowed fields of salted earth do not be dissuaded by the definition of that vision. it’s not an elaborate ruse draped over Eden. it really is desolation. a place better fitted as a parking lot when you don’t know what it’s like when Eden is gone. and CHOICE would eradicate what is into what was meant to be when knowing that promise remains tinted but apparent to the three eyes of which only one truly see’s..

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