weirdo writes things

 A Letter to Death Good day from a far away land, We have come face to face on multiple occasions But never brushed lips. Every time I see you skipping towards me, I pause time to think of thee, and I reflect. I think. Whether you are foe or friend, I do not understand But I cannot let you in either way. For joining hands would lead to friendship, but may that friendship fall, alas! I hope. I see the glint of you in the eyes of many who look at me. And of course, they are only glints. Glimpses of the hopefully nonexistent future. I do not wish you upon anyone, I do not wish you upon anyone to me. I care. I realize not all ends well but with sincerity I digress back together with hope. I hope and I try to capture and dispose of those glints which turn into flames the flames of imagination’s pain, the fear instilled in the eyes of my own, the ever pressing death of the mind. Though you are strong, dear Death, I am strong too. I will persist, and no entangling of twine or doodling of ...

 Burning Flowers We are the dregs; The edge of humanity, the forgotten limbs that make this world have its face Time and time again, filing the slot at the front's end. We are your sport, your ignorance; All that allows you to be, We're the numbers behind your game, and the architect of your floor. but-- We are your dregs_, Your slaves, your food. We give root to the world's face in bipolarity. Your marginalized corner of life yet, you need us. you come back to us. For your survival or for your madness, Why are you doing this? Why do we get no thanks? You're killing us...

 Twenty Faces of the Mathematician’s Side-job A small but powerful creature, No bigger than an inch, but larger than a mind In fact, you could say it is two minds, or maybe four or five. The core of the heart, even, but also the heart of the core Brings us together through story and lore It sits with its brethren, awaiting orders Orders which it may not obey, but will still bring the spike of the day Flung across a ravine, determining who dies, Creating laughter and awe, starting an old arc a-raw. A stroke of luck, you hope to pass Well then, let the die be cast.

Monochrome Tear of Color Parchment, the beginning of the perceivable mind to the outside. “Your mind is unlike mine. Prove it.” it is the tool to do so. Telepathy is theft. But the thief provides the greatest stories, no? While yes, those stories are not yours to tell. Let the mind breathe, do not steal. for the ear brings the greatest fuel, The Ear which consumes their perceivable mind rejumbles and lycresec back into film grain brain- Let it Breathe, breathe it on the Parchment.