Well, should i start now. it’s 2:18 Am and i could have never mustered, although i have a clutter of this gathering thoughts to start writing some day, but only about a matter to outsource the stink to look for borrowing the work of the scavengers some fine rainy day.
I was always right to think about this way for going around and round to only walk on the clearness of this damp state of my prepared pen and ready materials. It still looks sick, lacks colors and is pensive of the blood when brushing the first thing in the morning.
I look more in the crowds for the person walking lonely with their things running with their eyes casting down in their minds. They may burn their heads off emptying the touch of their state of feeling vanished proposal and gets their toe hit a thing or stone ahead. Thus, my valley of desire tumbles from the mountains smoothening every rock and thing that’s been hard about till it slaps on the ground, but when it gets soaked, I never flowed like smooth and walking, probably I need the burst of rains, those floods that carries with it the corpse of its curse, and my survival. When will I start writing.
The affair is now aging. I still think about her. I still am not ready. A leap of the foot is now beer hard on my mind and long became sissy, but I have the blood cornering about in every veins. It reddened mostly and scares on my palm, and throws about on my fingers to look for the realization of its ability to dance with its puppet. I should think creative writing.
Its 2:54 with the same coffee boiling about my taste of depriving it of any sugar or some fancy honey once I made him drooling about, but I am equally careful of his calories with some managed fats. Meanwhile, A sound goes in the dark traveling about outside the gate from the sudden tumbling of sleeping beer bottles on empty stomach on the bucket full of trash-when some cats simply kitchened their heads for something to eat, also when I am not writing- these sounds always take care of my sleep. I could think about writing.
I try to run in my state of shoes which is not even comfortable about a regular walk. I jump, throw my muscles apart and repair it, but with the absent efforts to continue borrowing on the show regularly. I think about submitting this preparation a lot, but only when I will be able to complete on it, only when I will stop myself of wandering about every affair I will be looking for, every race I will be a runner. I have to limit and respect the audacity of the road I have been a offered. I have to look into their eyes while walking on it and never look withdrawing about the fanciness of other destinies. I will walk on it. I am writing now. writing prompt.