Just Blissin out and Making words rhyme

I wish I could give you this light cause its so bright. It takes away uncertainty and makes it alright. It beams from my jeans and up and in between. There is a way to be saved and it lies in getting creamed. Nah mean? The skintight slap happy superficial, is just something operating for a fistful, of dollars. I'm no scholar though I spend my time in self. And I'm no caller at the times I'm needing help. Yet I'm reading from this felt this fly high fine fabric. Contemplate the words that I give is it magic? No it's manic? A heavy pendulum with awkward swing. Making me as ethereal as high pitched vocalists sing. It's not the red bulls giving wings though my heart is in the skies. I relieved myself from skin now I'm wondering why.

They asked me...

Is it a different man that sits upon your stoop, does he trail a brighter day, does he laugh and let it loose?

They asked me...

Would you be willing, with a wonderful tone to tell me if what your expelling is a present of bones. Is it taken from tombs? A melody from the past? Is it temporary fading while your craving to last? Is it gray is it black, can it help me relax? Can i fix it up and mix it with some grass from my stash?

I said ..

Hold up! this essence... is not a thing nor a phrase, in the poetry and song I cannot claim it's contained. I told them look at the sun, do you see how it shines. Can you point out any traces that its rays leave behind? What does it promise to you? It comes and leaves after nine. What does it threaten from you? it lends its seconds of time. Just reflect on this now, and without motive you'll know. That I am just a spec of what your life wants to show. That I am just an artifact, a fool with a mouth. But beyond attempts to label and to figure it out. There is a force that is there, like an empty cocoon. And perhaps it is a trap to lead you back to the womb. A spindle and a thread weaving the fabric of doom.

And I left from the shade, this shade where everyone sat, and in the past I would have walked and thought of talks aftermath. But through decades of time and conversations with few. This understanding that I spoke of evaporated like dew. And I was left to myself for eons after the next and i peered at the sun and like a mirrors reflect, it was so plain in my mind that nothings left to be seen. Like a flicker of flame, instants awake in the dream.

The most maddest of lines, the most hectic of lives, the most ambient glow, the most interesting show, or melodic note. Lets leave it alone for there is love in a box where I beat myself up with a sock full of rocks.