Tonight is a let my fingers take over kind of night. No format that isn’t destined. No words that haven’t already been written. I’m just the messenger. Shoot me. Move me, finally. Standing still is growing old. Like life. And tonight I want an out of body experience. I want to go somewhere I’ve never been before. See my breath.

See my life.

See my stars.

Scattered. Scattered. The moon mocks me. You mortals can have the sun. I wanna go where ants build bombs to find what sustains me. I want to be known. Understood.

You mortals can have your science. I’d rather be the contridiction that is. That was. That will always be as long as minds reach places God intended to stay hidden.

I’m trying to escape. I’m working to convince myself there is more than these fingers typing these words and a restless mind hungry for an existence.

Complete my sentence.

Punctuate my flow. I’m overdrawn on being a comma to ignorant to ignore the pause. Only God can place the period, so I need an exclamation. I need to question until the answers seem valid.

Until the sentence reads complete. Until the fingers stop typing and ants find their water on the moon.

 

Dew

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