Sunflower

The news is out, crying zeroes, poor kid, had lost his sunflower. They, of the speaking, predict that his actions are more likely random, and the high road he would put himself within, is a way out of his world but not mind. This world, as he presumes, is quite less of a chess match, it is less despite the consequences that pieces do die after all but any of what is different, is likely and uncommonly, a miserable metaphor humankind has drawn to burden those who care less for the detail. Those, who are too late to the mind battle where you just fight nobody but yourself. A state of two states, a speaker and another speaker but surely one is tongue-tied and one is drunk.

On a decision to set every discussion to closure, that the awkwardness and bittersweetness of those lines are to left us stalking, if, at any case,  you are the sunflower. Walking by, scared for how shattered that arrow of hope was hit by a bow of pain. Nevertheless,  misery in the eyes of a dreamer. A curse in the heart of a blessed rogue committed ordinary of no context young man.

Tired rover, to the city of innocence - one of better humans where they do not actually exist and for the one they owned, they burnt down as for his soul, a one that had had enough. Till the cliff, where it is not a place to judge, but one to catch the nice floating breeze while gently moved by the waves.

A life thief, that sorrow of pain - nevertheless, an infectious wreck that split many of whom minds were once peaceful for a seashore walk that somehow ended by getting shot. An open investigation for the social justice of a coward man who the blessings will never forgive but after the comma of survival, it is all a fabric of our heads. It is one more fantastic fantasy of your creation that every dramatic end is left to the departure of a hopeless little man who knew more but spoke less.

With an instant hyper beat of: find your sunflower you reasonless intuitive empty scribbler. Sideways, a mirror world of yellow dust fields. One closer step for the missing soul and a crossing roads field is all there. A sunflower left in the dust. Where to stalk by? Busted. Breathe. Again?

I keep saying, she is a clef, but I never keep any much, and for now, it is time I be here for you. I know I have always been left to think of how and why but nevertheless, you are a sunflower and I will stop checking. Maybe I am the wreck, but you could trick. You are the sunflower.