Just venting, don’t mind a llama

The soul is in a state of travel. It’s aim still alludes me.

Impossible forces still call from behind a veil. I’ve long since to give them credence. All in due time.

Nothing has ceased them completely. Nothing I wonder will help, or hinder. Reality still melts, and it was probably my own fault.

The tribunal is watching in silence, hands pushing, and hands enticing. It’s all their call, and I can feel them as stalwart sentinels.

So many tests, they’ve changed me. That’s the point. Burn away the impurities, and you are left with condensed soul.

Oblivion. Such a sweet word. Call and dance to the void, let yourself echo in harmony to a beat. Announce yourself to the dark.

Stand tall, and stand firm.



I’ve often wondered
When does a person
Actually get a soul.

I tend to think we grow into it.

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