RE: on anger, timing , change and truth

In this place: where truth be not told for fear of loosing the lies that have come to be our bedfellows.

You are the victim of my fallacy and i, my conscience.

But through the veil, i find a way home.

Home to my brick conjugation of safety.

Home. To where i can approach you without a scald.

I may pass again, a stricken stranger on your path of citizenship.

Leave a sign so i find it quick enough to stretch my hand.

Will you take it? Or will you be again a a man of honor? and draw pins through these emptied veins?

Your Diary In My Hands.

Your Diary In My Hands.

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You hold my hand in flight
each time my spirit flees this settlement of reason.
It happens at full moon when only the wind can  follow
and bend the path we blaze.
...come with me.