A letter to a friend

— I love you honeybear / a letter to a friend
I am more foreign and stable than I first thought. I have come here to do what must be done. Erect the poison from the water and feed the birds. I have come here not as friend or ally, but as the fortified opposition. The foe. Only to the pointed moon, dipped and glazed in annoyance of her prospects do I bow. There is much to worry about, and little time to eradicate these wrongs. You remind me thats okay. Touching and leafing through the ancient words that propose the angular, the almost incorrigible demise. I know just as well as the moon that this is the way it should be

you agree in love

so we met and got high and..

You know it like I do, that in this seemingly sublime catalyst we remain the same, you and me. The philosophers daughter and weary nail biters, we are both. Not existing as a friends, but charred stars moving this way and that. Not for the naive, the vain, the blind, relationship that is filth, but solely to strengthen one another in her personal mirage, her power. Her divine feminine. In hopes that she will gain all that she writes, and preaches, and masturbates to. Its intrinsic already to us. To you and me. You are so beautiful and patterned. We sit like grains of rice on a ethereal carpet strung up like a dead animal, or a construction site. It kills me a little.We are reading two pieces of prose from two different times, worlds but I am not your oppressor, and you are not mine.

You are sheer eager words quickly thought out and earnestly submerged into the turnings of this time. Present and so very much “there” as if you too were dipped in glaze, already solidified and ready to sing and dance among the city scape. You sing the most frequent, you sing optically, I see things when you speak and the things I see are not of this world, and at the same time so prescribed and human that I urge you to draw a picture of it. Like parallel lines that break apart, black and white, meeting and then grey. That is you and me. Do we exist? There are sins and perfume and trees that shouldn’t exist alongside the bandshell but you know why, like I know why you love romance and all the “ought to’s” and the “should be’s” that come to you when your alive and high and the only thing that would be worse than not singing it, would be forgetting it. We both think the other is transcendental, which is synonymous with a myth. We will break them up, the myths and fight the common truths like the indulgent vagabonds that we are.

Love,
Dakota

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