timeline

alive...I do my best writing at 5 o clock in the morning,naked with the shower running....sweating out last nights booze...tending to my open wounds...and bruises from the kick back of a 12 gage afternoon...lunacy! some say...but I display my brain in a beautiful way...I remove my rosy red glasses and see the truth of things...I say...I was born in a city like this...Often times, Ive seen myself as the osiris of the central pyramids...my father was a temple man,until he lost faith and his gilded dreams were reprimanded...I had an upper hand in the land & on his natural followers...as a young boy I had swallowed my pride whole and traveled this fertile crescent as a kindred soul to the apocalypse...it seemed to me every passage had burials...every morning the sky burned for valhalla in a stalemate...I knew my life was shrouded from the start. I followed the stars maps and listened to this war drum of a heart...these battle scars show the world what I have conquered...medusas,labyrinths and minotaurs...all for a chance to be loved...which is all anyone has ever wanted...these rugged features and pounds of hair signal Im quite scared...daring as I may be,this path is as normal to a fisherman to the sea...or a fisher of man...but for me its experience...its all in my head....its ok to be nefarious,inglorious...covered in powder without a hint of normality...thus such is the core of an osiris...a shaman...a shogun...which we all are on this sacred rock...I give thanks to my lord and the abilities granted with a sword...forged out of heavy metals I bring peace to the score...It brings fear to this heart. I clutter my thoughts with old world mentalities...it speaks to the abuse in me...the way I perceive things...all threatening. I have no control...and Ive admitted to this...but can this truly ever be bliss? this parking lot smells like old jizz and shit...I guess thats what happens when you nap on benches off of west colfax...its a lot to fault the will of the people...even more so,for me,to fight the unwillingness of evil that goes along with this lifestyle...living above the turnstiles...doing my best writing when minimal eyes will be guided by it...this is my steeple...and though my temples throb and I loathe this morning sun...I can't help but feel complacent with the land...this fertile soil...these futile writings...theres a lot of alone time in life I'm finding...a lot of strange instances between the country and city lives...are these signs...are these memories spread out across time? can i share these with my soul wide open or will I finally die? I have been reborn...for once in my life...