i dont speak of whats mine because what actually might be mine might not actually be what's mine.
shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. half a lined and sketchy world is quiet.
when this is happens i fall apart like a stack of marbles that can't hold it's own liquor.
i'm rolling everywhere to everyplace to every city to every idea. no i wasn't really there.
but i was. i was. i was. i was. i see things ways you don't. i believe in things you damn well don't.
when everything becomes noisey again. i shoot back up to normal. solid. something seen. so you can see me.
just for a moment anyways. when you go quiet again. i go back to rolling.

a hermit not by choice but by how things worked out.
not meant to be close to everyone. or anyone. just living out
life thinking of life.
thinking how it tends to revolve in circles like a confused snake who cant find its head on its tail.
it was solitude. lonely. blissful. sad. it became and grew into so many things.
didn't hate it. didn't want it at 1st. but came to accept it.
life was something of a mystery that didn't need solving.
even when screaming out begging for answers.
the only reponse would be a whistling wind.
nature didn't care. it had all it needed. the goal was to become like this.
faint smiles can taint the area surrounding my mouth to the people sitting fairly close smiling back.
an exchange of words. not enlightenment. they cant see the flashes
coming from thoughts. "it's all mine. they'd never understand."
not selfish. pure perception. something you find on your own.
a hermit in a city life. a hermit in a rural thought.
alone. sad. blissful. growing. a child circling in age
like a snake unable to find its head on its tale.
not life. just me