what I mean is hope makes torture possible right.
this is no fucking lifting of the veil,
but rather my seraphim.
I can not create my own fate
but I can decide what is fatal.
a misconstrued masculine drive to prove something uncontrived is gnawing at it's real potential.
it's like that painting in the dentist office where that woman with the blue dress
is holding a painting of a woman in a blue dress and as the paintings are getting
smaller it's harder and harder to see the dead crow she is holding in the other hand.
did the person who hung the painting in a family dentist office not notice the bird at all?
I've for years fought with the idea of the forgotten crow and holding my tongue down.
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