pincushion aka SNAX dont ask provert no1's blog: "true highs a drug for the passionate"

The drunken jesters of the night once again filled thier empty lives with a drug induced world of wonder, that soon will fade and they will relize, it was just a night, a night as any other.

we live our lives day to day in a merky self made haze. useing this we fogg our eyes to the truths we wish not to know. wealthes of knowlage old gone and forgoten. mindless animals traind to live in society so far removed from what we are. a great expance past our relm of rational thought is waiting but still we dont want it. complicated lives scurring around in a race for nothingness and end, gohsts we all have always thier draging imiages from our pasts to life again, this life is what we have nothing more will be and we try to shut ourslfes inside our own minds to protect ourselfs from what we do not know when all that is needed is one thing, but what that is what we cant see.

sitting in silence i scream, my mind awakes in agony, ripped from a world not of ours but one of perfection and majesty, senses still numb and tingling form the reality in my head parting in such hast, longing lust of shadows crept through my head, though i know it will never be i still have my dream, a world where truly all are free and racicim and hatred shattered, broken like a mirror scatered, this world i long for in my heart, comeing back to reality my face chilled with the foul taste, glazed eyes peering through an open window restricted still by bars, would i if i could fly into the unknown relm of sefl knowladge and love, for theis are places i fear to tread, as many do, needing of something sweet by soured lies, romanticized burdens we carry with us, out into our cage, like a wild beast captured, our hearts are as they, knowing no way out we wonder around aimlessly just hopeing for a moment of sweet bliss that can only be bruoght on from the touch of ... FRIENDSHIP

From the brow of a borrowed soul, pouring fourth the blood called sweat, spilt from the fatal blow when struck, dripping down my cheeks as tears. Now as has happened many years ago, now many years past brought forth the pain locked in the deapth of my heart, fear welling in my head, is it the fatal arrow wich has once more taken its furrious blow to mine life, or rather a lust from sin in hell. When i take her loveing gift is it a hope for a future or rather just a hole to phuck, her body soft and supple, her carress a gift of the gods, her kiss sweet and mellow, her mind ever expanding. I trust in her as a mate, loveing bliss something we dreamed as an unconsious world such as a "heavan", or was it all a blissfull trip with the drug flowing fiuriously thru my veins. No a drug indeed, but not the type of mortal woe, its a drug of love for as a gift blessed by saints hands could not compare