Stories and painted Kodak Film

The constant turmoil boils a stove and cauldron with bubbling oils and dripping fluids,

stabilized levels never so interrupted by ceasing, and the anger of unraveled neurological threads,

has never spun like the storms of this 5 year patterend storms,

in the pain and tearing, in the crying and fearing,

A picture appears from the first 3 years,

and the soul of the one who lurked in the forests begins to glimmer distantly

of course this light that begins to shine with the dirtied chemical cloth that blocked its rays,

scares the one who looked down all the different aisles for the cloth,

constantly searching for the calming pausing, nutrients to cause some quieter noise,

inside burning, tearing still the storm raged,

now in December’s winds and echoes and voices, fire runs from the focusing receptors,

now fully unblocked and this plug flushed and pulled out