Nonice

I stain these bones of mine with my own two hands tangentially upright. Down goes another foe. People around the globe sense a need to embellish how they want to be seen. I want to see another me: the one that everyone thinks about. Here I sit and I try to grasp all of the things that you want from me. But here as I am, just what you think I am based off that that is made of you. Well, you can say the same about me, for I am someone who still grows, no matter how much I lose. Here it is, that need to let it go. That need? That need to be set free of the types of haunting memories I seem to want to remember thee. Just so that our lack of connection can push me forward or so that I can come back to the lack of words that I have to say. It comes around again: the exact portamenti that changes the tempo of which I can let go of it all. All of it starts to fade away. Is this really what I desire? The pauses I take everyday to ensure that I don't find that same reasoning are beginning to get stale. When I feel that is the case, I do what I once did before, but never more than twice. If the thrice were to occur, if the quace were to occur, well, if the quice were to, that is, if I were to say today that the seice were to occur, I would have to say something about the septice occuring, would I not? So I mean in turn, yeah, in turn the octice would rear its monotonous tone. And what's not nice is that I wouldn't have to talk about the nonice next but I would never begin to think about that thing that comes after. That thing, that thing that brings those thoughts back to me.