It's hard to find action after digesting reactions. It's like finding passion when met with retraction. It's like finding wealth in dissatisfaction. The sky is new, it always is. So is this amusing fist. I might find abuse in this. Life is bright, find muse in it. Fight music if she's letting go. That empty feeling is a new road. That empty pit, you swore was fate, was just illusion. Yes, a fake. There are no pits, just empty paths, but some are filled with growth and wrath. We bare them both. Master the craft. We share the hope. Master the craft. Master the mind you swore was hers. You swore with words, you swore on church. You swore to sun, to moon; both fair. You swore to hips. You swore to hair. I swore to more. I swore to stare. I promised more, I swore to prayer. I swore to gaze, to hands held in bed. I swore to the nape of your neck and forehead. I find truth in action and find it appealing. That's what I'm feeling. Done with concealing. Im finished with wishing, a blister comes quicker. Life's just a parent, and I apparently miss her.