I dont know I sho dont know Ms.Nina what it be like…other than to be me.

Black is Me. Is that All I’s Be

To bare time and the bundled trials atop these uneven knife edges boxing my tome. Shoulders hewn by sand and burdens to wedges that sssssssssslice; rending dry heat from the arrid air. In Gods garden desert that is enmity to any benison from the horn of plenty cornucopia omni-equity over disparity bridging another wise heinous gap aimed to inscape triumvirate me so as to prosper my mind, body and black black black ghost. But still a plenary of eveningtides roll crimson and bleed gold in a plaintiff dirge unbetrayed by my countenance simularca a right angle in dignity that contrast when alone my spirit that calls out on fire bemoan the niggardly pins unlit in steadfastness limblessly holding forth thoughtlessness that embracelets fetters left foot right leg double dutch jump ropes and brooms over the 13th bandage on loving dead parchment to grasp hold comnitting iron cuffs to my black body so close they almost reach past my bones and sinew to lock round my soul. 5billion candles I must wait to wink light awareness to flight seperating dark Hostis Humani Generis disembarks as the lessening of the omnipresent bedimmed black bright arch. Won’t knows till then what its truly like to be a free ghost riding a meet wagon driven by the charioteer my mind, Ms.Nina.

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