The mind’s chemistry is a hot fire, a pain, an obsession a hopeful fire. Open up your heart and let light of the fire, flaming heavens or the thinking imagination invade. You will never find yourself, while you haven’t took the second to walk across the burn. Those coals hot, but lessons they teach will be remembered by the scars.
These eyes have seen much, but for lost memories it’s too difficult to keep in touch. A lovers clutch, but what they grasp onto is the old you, the new you is yearning for things unseen, lost grasp of its own mind. Who knows how long fingers can hold when there is such heat, such emotional flare rivaling the suns very perpetual gaze.
When the heat escapes, the eyes of the beholder see how much steam has been kept in, how long such has stood to burn and take deep account to the lungs. For the tongue thirsts, and itself becomes brittle from such heat. Sensitive to the subtlest of touches, and minuscule tastes. A taste of salt in rainwater.
What is your deepest desire, find this and find your deepest cut. The pain which comes from the splitting of that very skin, is of the similar sense as the heat expounded from splitting an atom, the hostility created from splitting man from woman. Now woman denies her part as she says she was never a part of man, and stands rather thinking herself good apart from man. Man thinking the same, the heat in his heart for those either from himself is like those of bitter stirred tea, the steam from the stem of the leaf of itself even rejected. The taste non bearing.
The codes set in the matrix set pictures in the mind. In the minds eye visual is seen by the words spoken or seen. Indeed man’s glance at what he most fears brings the most heat to his heart. His heart becomes heavy and the words become hard to speak. This so, that even in the mind’s eye the visuals of such become hard to form. This so, that this lack creates a heat in the air which becomes too much for one to bear. The heat must escape, or the burn will exhaust the molecules of life from whom is its host. Those who bear it too heavy are left just for what they are, a bundle of ties tied only for limited time. This time so limited, that it almost in the lifespan of these things at least seems like nothing at all.
The heat of the spirit keeps one driving. The pressure keeps keeping on, and the lips keep seeking salvation from the mouth agape of the bride to be. The marriage of pain and pleasure, this is life indeed. The heat and cold, the dichotomy of man and thus all above and below man, this is the true life, and this for at least you cannot truly escape. The likes who fall backwards into the fire, these are the only ones who capture gems. These capture what bliss there is left to be.
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