Morbid.

‚ÄčI'm sitting again in this broken ride, Travelling distances vast and slow, Adjoining pieces from a soulful scatter, Setting places up,  Bringing fields to vision, When there are ruthless knives That strike inside. When there are scars still fresh, Wounds that still bleed. When there are questions too deep, Resting in voids And reasons too …

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Bumpy roads and straying thoughts.

Another herd of people who have lost their values, who have chosen for their hate and retaliation to drive their actions. Since when has blocking roads, and shouting insults ever led you anywhere ? Frantically people rush across the roads, panic drowning their ability to reason, to find shelter from this mob that engulfs the …