𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫

tha supernatural, it’s ridiculous — an
incessant
worker

tha wind whistles… cats
limp
for what?

i lie down, tired and more
work.
rubbin’… friction (or warmth).

my body remains an offering
croaking(?)
capturing…

wake down by sunset…
we can just capture moments…//
bitter
mouthful

Shock a system, it arises — 
shock one: condition it.
control
CanTroll.

Desire something… pull it or push,
what is unsatisfactory/.?
rush rush
we are jumping.

arn’t most folks just noisy or whatever?
feelings (or sentimentalities) are only perfext, eh?
i look 4 Them
in high grass.

good nutritions is a holy sacrament
fr.
you sit.. standing, in a compromised
posture, fckr.

my body needs to be a temple
alignments are happinesses
guilt derails entrails.

BLK GRASS was originally published in Philosophies, Psychologies, Poetries, Spiritualities on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.