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  Man I loved being abused And I think you did too Kinda wish it wasn't over Please come back my four leaf clover Maybe it's no self respect My problem is that I easily forget You and I are the same in that And I think you also want to come back I think the abuse was love A traumatized version from above Neither of us could admit it So we kinda had to split it As Kanye says run away There's nothing left for us to say Except that u can always come back But remember we'll both be under attack

Father Time vs. The Human Race

Space Cadet - Mary Doodles (CHECK HER OUT!)

     Beauty leads in the same light we have bread. Stemming from the vultures of time we have been reformed to our setting. Sitting across the Galaxy was a rumination, and that rumination formed differences of opinion. Sometimes, things seem a bit haywire. Sometimes things are explicit. Wherever their tastes, the gods of the eleventh dimension have approached us without ease. They used broad strokes to formulate our character.

     Crazy to think, how in this plane we are interdimensional beings of the same type. It's crazy to imagine one day how different it is from the next, simply because our mind's eye isn't stable. It's crazy to imagine that it's not crazy to imagine world torture being dominant in cultural exchange and attitudinal shifts of consciousness. It's crazy, that we are just crazy.

     The world works in a beautiful way. Staring at the moon, staring at Mars, staring at the stars do our ambitions lie, and one day we might be there. Sometimes we view the world out of pocket. Out of our tunnel vision leaves a fogged love for the conjoiningness of mother nature, father time, alien wellbeing, pure togetherness, and working in unity. This tunnel vision is somehow made by us lacking tunnel vision, you see. We create fantasies in our world, and we look to make those fantasies real. Oh, how they are not real, and how they will never be real. But we will try, and we will fail trying. Conscious stars on a desert island of space, looking to bring forth their light without power is all we will be till we remove it.

     This will end. It will be washed away by our sins. It will die. We will help kill it, and it will help kill itself. Space will be space. Room will be room. And matter will return to god. But one things for certain and will always be certain, simply dying will never be all that we experience. We will experience the stars inside of us, eating our stomach into Oblivion, tingling our ideas, and racing to the walls of a building of boldness.

      THIS IS US. We are here, and we will leave without a choice. WE DON'T CARE. In the long run, we will be the ones who fought time. And, for awhile, WE FUCKING WON.