The seam of broken pillow fights, lead, copper, and gold rushing to a mountain side looking for a ride with unrest. The young worker working, sweating, dieing to find shade. Tired of broken promises and so eager. They go on walking with langour over distant remote lands looking for the one to follow; it isn't me, after all its just a voice calling somewhere. Just Cold comfort amid the checks in the mail. Not to many poeple living, not a whole lotta people dieing. Still they say the game is here and nobody is keeping score. Unbelievable, after all its worth it seems this island is growing even while it gets smaller. The carless minds of the universe holding this vanity on the shoulder proud and prude of any sense of integrity, wanton in all its sense. Economic suicide, pessimisstic road sides looking at a young man to take down to El Paso while looking for his money. Still everything goes the way it was supposed to, never changing it's route. The morning melts darkness boiling its void while the clouds lay sustained over the blue liquid dreams of better days, growing fonder of them everyday just floating up their idle with unrest still reminicient of myself. Dreams sustained, the ego crushed by its own way, five days gone for a moment, that moment saying- "CANT REMEMEBER A damn THING MAN!" No use, just lay back chill the cold lost memory of yourself, keep it calm for the sake of your existence; and, with no aid whatsoever a man can blow as deep as he wants.The stones breaking, rolling over deep ditches; colliding like music and riding the drums like water; like the ocean with all its fluctuation.Young men Breathing still but their stomachs are cold; air warmer then ever now. Someone somewhere is asking about him, to late. He shocked the world, never had they their will of him. He just pays no mind, chasing the night sky revering the tides and never stoping for no one ( we all stop stopping anyways) but the world had its will of him now, no more this breath, no more this life; this sacred life, overwhelms this expression. Tears of sorrow with fears of tommorow another soul enters the realm of guile, tricked n all sense, deplored by his enemys crushed suicide speed ball rolling home with fixed folly filling jelly donuts to succumb to his majesty the sacred breath of sanctity, the pretty soul sould for vengeance bleak with humilty remebering nowone anywhere anyhow. Crying for death by its own exultant living. Death for living, the cost of breathing.