an open letter to my shield.

be the voice of arms that back you. pretend no one is hearing you.

your own personal jesus. Live in Mexico Depeche Mode.

charger question no transfer.

The Sky is a Landfill by Jeff Buckley.

the fight I was told is one within. all armor that my body can not longer be exoskeleton is a grounded foot of a fox that lied to me. in time that divided equal will know such weight. Remember all we know is limited to our view and can be a dagger called into a place that would drive self into Drive.

of fight I am part of peace and arms of alliance as much as can be, flawed and slumber. My neart is over my head as temple

grand

I see thru pictures es thought comes to me with a moment that arrives me as a butterfly, adheres itself to me like know one knows but the worl will make sense. Where art imitates life. I pick up wait, the wounds of many to transform my hands into something that I can show my worth. it was not pushing a button, nor template alone. The sketches of my efforts start as a window. Like a song comes from somewhere unknown. Judging the sound or its origin is to ask the guitar how it is made. The tool is in your hand, the piano at your key.

The song is for you to make, no one can make you the person without calling.

I Sang to you my heart.

Perhaps, Punchin Grumpy has this sound. I would hope it has the energy what holds you down. I am the keeper of security and insecurity

revenant

There is a a There There if I am Radiohed and song……….

a branch will be there as long as I can give you my arms.