New stories are born from old.
his memories were never to be told .
forever shifting shape.
it’s like when coal becomes diamond and sand turns to gold.
he was thinking about how beautiful flowers could be.
time passed to smell the essence of the flower he grew.
some wind would take it away.,there is no longer such a place as home.
the great rough truths of raw existence had been rubbed and buffed away.
he was told that faith without doubt is addiction.
he never searched for prefection,he never questioned for only attention.
argued with the world for an answer to his question.
he believed no sane human ever trusts someone else’s version.
a smile out of pain not an injury that judged by the size of the hole.
Masks beneath Masks until suddenly the bare bloodless skull.
who can see the whole picture are the ones who step out of the frame .