Even Within The Greatest Of Systems...

"Shattering/disintegrating bullets. A thin/loose casing helps to contain the rounds before impact, that can dissipate at a given distance, which then allows the projectile to burst into tiny pieces on contact with the target."

There will NEVER, EVER be any source of time large enough to create energy.

-Time and energy (only these two) are from completely opposite sides of reality.

There is a first, that is the first, it is first, First.

A+ Chanical Feat.

Heart of valve, Its blood... normal.

The dulled, and senseless taste of copper.

Gun of petri, powder of fire.

Curling toes, gripping fingers...

Lessons learned, -feathering triggers.

Spherical, and other curved objects and shapes are never made from bent lines, but instead, they are created due to the different degrees of angles.

Yes! ...And this:

"Why do your slumbering eyes... see?

Like a dreamed world, only you have made.

Who have you become... dearest love?

I've nibbled, ever so gently, on the flesh.

Fruit that blossoms, too terribly sweet.

My blindness forgets to show, just how.

Yet the love for you, burns... carelessly.

Tell me, you wish for my death.

Forever, I'll die... bleeding for you, only... you."

One day... Every mortal will reflect into each of the only mortal, and earthly understanding from all of their own life.

We will then face that ultimate, immortal, and eternal recognition.

We will, and can only be forced to see. To learn -without any further or future ability, that we cannot deny ourselves of. That our dreams (each ethereal reality) will become so poetically and philosophically pungent to anew awoken life, this that demands a-most-sought-after Heaven. Just as it is simultaneously destroyed within the Hell...

of our only one, nightmare.

The Slivers of Shillings

I’ve smelt this, like the raw inside of a fiery forge.

The heavens pounded upon the highest roof,

It became an effigy, one plotted lot of sand...

Burning beyond the sound chosen by its flame.

Here thee hands, of tips, and gears  sing in the scrapyard.

“What shall I be? Who is this person? Does it... Do we, change?”

Four walls, 1 call, and too many multiple halls. I’ve been this charmed and blessed...

My mental state is of an incomparable truth.

Death-to-me, as I am besieged!

1 ceiling and 1 floor... how should this not...

just as more, Become asked of for sure?

Why does this light forgive, and of its time...

Who has set such a greater purpose?

The moment of life and death’s meet is quite....

An oddity. We kiss and hug, to showcase our love.

But with what body, thought or word should EVER,

--EVER begin to speak so... sweetly? 

As if the blossoms of every flower is to burn with blood

-- whilst dripping from the spines of thorns.

Grow boldly, tiny Goddess. Your forest here, is an old man’s

once forgotten finest. Please (dearest little) forsake no brother.

They fight and kill, all destroy over your affection, remember me.

Questions only comfort, knowledge.

“Growth is painful. Change is painful. But nothing is as painful as staying stuck somewhere you don’t belong.”

— Mandy Hale