WHAT THE FUUUUCK RITALIN
THIS ISN’T THE WORK I’M SUPPOSED TO BE DOING BUT POETRY’S HARD D:
The music maker makes the hearts held in his hands hope for a greater day; hands of hearts held together in prayer; hearts held together by the heartstrings tugged upon by greater harp thrumming hands of the masterful musician, iron silk-thread sewn between hope and despair; reality and real aleatory sewn into fertile ground of faith and grown into something greater; a greater chance that your heart might sway to the rhythm of god, if only while you nod; nodding off to sleep as the musician carries on with his tapping; hands of spiderlegs and majesty knowing nothing more than plastic and the projection of a caught thieves face.
Edit: I kinda like this :I I just sat and rambled, but maybe I’ll look back and fix it later.
