What I have is nothing. What I do isn’t much to take notice of. What I have to say can be written and ignored, or not. Who I am is no different than any other can say. What I will… What I by God’s will…. What I of dreams and hopes and reality. Who I am makes no difference as to WHAT I…. give.
What I, in truth, give … should be.. presently and presented as such… a gift. complicated in some complex humanity plea to be recognized by you. Whoever the fuck you are. What does it matter to me as long as you acknowledge and leave your acknowledgement in some form.. such as a like.
Then I can get egotistical and confidant. I can have that moment that relishes in the moment that you noticed. What I that I matter. What you..that you let me know that.
What is it that you mean to me?
What I wake up tomorrow to take with me in my endeavers of the day…. thanks to you.
what of suicide… should you be extravagant and a bit too much than is required of simple. A lawsuit then? Bully then.. you.?
Sensitive as the font I haven’t taken the time to choose. And for my heroes.. any less effort? What I, but to urge you to what? To read words within a 26 letter bracket only to fear plagerism? What I .. then a thief?? What I then… a reflected moment that hopes that we meet. ? To care if this finds in you a place of familiar… like a good cat grown old and knows where its place is to lie upon a bed. A challenge welcome or is it just an egging on to discourse and reason to bitch about in mumbles under my breath that you will never hear breathe in nor out. What I of importance beyond your eyes falling upon each syllable like a small white ball would for the primary set of our ranks. ?? Comprehension…. much like a masterpeace hanging upon a wall in a fine art museum… one of trash in my own opinion.. and the ghosts whispers through the halls… what i…..
GRACE 