12:50 a.m.

Now, that I think of it, 2016 was amazing.

 

 
Act I Escape

I call it, “Escape from Party Island.  Gospel truths came out like pastors asking for money. I remember the island as a carefree oasis were the deep calm waves gently rocked me to sleep. I feel asleep to calm shades of grey dancing with blue intertwined to make this cute mess called water. As calm and clear as it was, I never seen myself in the water, just what I thought I saw, more of what the other islanders seen.  Now that the bomb dropped and all my works are dust. I am mindlessly stroking alone on a door made into a raft; the ores are a broken.  50 days, 40 nights and 3 weekends—the other days were for doing nothing but for the river to shift me to where it felt I needed to go. As I was poorly boating alone, the blunt blue waters turned into murky reminisces of green and yellow, huddled together in the filth as if the slush was trying to keep a united front against the ideas of beauty. I looked to stare at the disgusting water, and was pleased to see my reflection perfectly. I am suffering from my own exile, being uncomfortable is much better than the easy life on the island.
Act II Exposure

I washed up nowhere, with nothing, but I am use to nothing. I will deeper and say took back the veil of ignorance and gave new perspective a wedded kiss.  As if that meant getting naked on a stage and being ridiculed for the body that stood in front of the masses. They gawk, freak out and stare while you are being held up only by your pride and feelings of undeserving nature.  Show yourself and they will show you the world, show them your world and they slice your head off. Everyone is okay with everyone as long as everyone meets the criteria of everyone else.  Roadblocks are there when you deviate from the Map. Your confidence you are headed west when you were driving south this whole time. No one trust you with direction, and you been exposed that you cannot read a map. However, it is best that you learn about a map than wallow in your own ignorance. It has been the year of the veil being taken off, not by choice, but by circumstance.

 

Act III Desert

This sense of reality is a sense of constant impending doom, but it is a sense of the reality nonetheless. It has been a slow decline to the decay into our definition of human suffering, but I am now calling from the middle of my toil. Hungry, broke, and a little bit happy. I see mirages of fruitless delights that will keep me interested up the time that I realize that I am disinterested. Creature of habit, I repeat my mistakes while evading them. Off in the horizon, I see an island.

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