Chapter Five

After all of that difficulty and wandering, my eyes had shifted their gaze. They were drawn to discern sources of everything that followed me. Their suffering, no longer that of solitary harmonica. Blinding like the setting sun, as it continued its moaning, so full of nuances, disguised as locusts and embraced by my brain like a suffocating goldfish. Now, you may ask yourself, “Why are nervous eyes frozen and restraining, with the ribcages of slaves?” So that brings me back here, as I turn my serenity towards the breaking guitar strings. You see, I have meticulously screamed sound bites, that I may prove my John Lennon theories. This is how those whispering and wilting desperate flowers bloom, as if to say , “who are you?” Just to proposition person or concubine, by rubbing, taunting, giving small smiles. But, I know that my future is among the decaying leaves or upon the clouds, strewn by the wind.

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