My words are mislaid and dispersed within your tender, fleshy vessel; like an astrayed entity scouring a nebulous, dense and emulsified forest. I urge you to seek and decrypt these incoherent, defaced words that are buckled and suspended on adhesive webs of strained, charred branches.
— M. Rose
Our beliefs, our moral codes, they allow us to feel as though our identities are authentic, dignified, even Godly. But time and space is a paradox, reality is based on perception; carved out of external stimuli that endorses or shuns our ‘authentic selves’. Our ideas reign superior and we feel oppressed and ridiculed until they become the limelight with our token name on it! Would we gain the same satisfaction if someone else took credit for our creation? Our notions? No! Because the authenticity has been stained as it is not our lips that spawned the propaganda that we, the collective, the civilised, dip our snouts into.
29.11/ M. Rose
If you could, would you choose to forget and set aflame to the inflictions that stench of regret?
– 16.09 M. Rose
You enter the foyer of my mind and your presence alarms me. The door is agape and your ease of access unsettles me.
– 06.11 M. Rose