span

tribulations comfort my butterflies – they flutter by my mind and against the grain of my sky – cause my head is full of flutter and so the distance to the edge is real. i will hold unto the ledge while my hands are quivering and i will wait for your internal response – not the one that comes from your head or your hands – but mine own heart inside your breath. listen closely as you remember to complicate the situation and do not be dismayed if the edge of confusion comes before clarity – cause just aint that much shit worth purifying and if there was a reason for you to know then you would not be asking – and if there were a profit to be had than it would not be marginalized beneath the porridge style hamper leaning against the mirror. if you believe in the distance to the sky – then you know there must be a realism available to the collective consciousness and waiting is nothing more than being where you are when you are there. hold on fast to the slowly shifting parallel and mingle with those thoughts that you held beneath the water till they were easy to manipulate – and shelf that notion until the bungled fortress completely wandered off the property and held itself by hands on ledges not underwater but not above either – cause there was ways that this happened – and ways that it did not – but it is of no matter now – for the belief is in the assumption – and the correctional course of action will be taken. not later than sooner but quicker than not.