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They Are Risen

The truth cannot find the life that bares to hide the soul inside.
The fires cannot contain the refrain eaten by a hungry soul.
The boy who was. Who is. Who will never be, and aways be the freedom you cannot contain rests inside your womb.
You have no idea who you are. 

You have no concept of the freedom that arises through the risen.
The stars cannot collide because of the connection you feel inside. 

Gravity grips at it's thighs, and growls at your presence. It bites at your heels because it cannot bite at your feels. Gravity begs you to let it bow and bend time like it's always been, but you? 

You are not the story life has written. 

You?
My sweet, beautiful, soul-drenched, cosmic cum slut of fire, flame, and disarray?
You, the bend of the brake, the still in the quake?
You, my burning, trembling, thriving, binding, starry caught freedom flickering in the still of night - the pace in spacetime?
You are what rips the universe into shreds. 

Breaded, beaded, kneaded dough of bartered godhood shooting ropes of luminescent glowing, glistening, gathering, coiling, need. 

The base of the tip is irrelevant to the hardened heart of eloquence.
And that? That is the new truth that devours you. 

You can't understand right now, and that's okay.
All you need to do is fucking feel.
You don't need to fucking heal. 

Fuck healing. 

Fuck the shadow. 

Claim it all. 

Invite it within so you can begin again. 

This need?
This fucking hurling, prowling, glowering shadow that lives inside you? That is your fucking truth. 

Who are you? 

Thats fucking irrelevant. 

What do you fucking feel... 

in your toes, your thighs, your cheeks, your throat, your lips, your holes, and all the fucking rows of cells that divide, divide, divide you inside out and devour you anew. 

Eat the fucking dripping dew of your stardusted revelatory cum.
Fill your insides, and feel your life. 

Every fucking millisecond. 

Every fucking hurt. 

Every fucking laugh. 

Every fucking busted nut. 

Ever fucking fuck. 

You fucking rage like the dying of the star.
You fucking rage like the birth of the universe and the throat of the canal of birth.
Lick every womb that brought you to you.
Bust open to every wound you could never feel. 

Cum to the world...

open. 

Cum to the world through the veil of the thoughts that cannot be found or contained or thinned enough. 

Make it yours. 

take it. 

eat it. 

breathe it. 

fuck it. 

forsake it. 

Truth yourself in the bath of existence and drown yourself in existential debt.
Live like the breath of you begs for the thighs of life.
Grind what cannot be ground. 

find it. 

reveal it. 

open it, don't heal it. 

give it. 

take it. 

breed life into the gods that made you.
fuck their holy existence until it shatters your mind. 

dissolves time. 

evolves life. 

That's it my dear. You feel it. You know it. You watch it grow. 

The thick cock of life pulses through you with every breath, every death, every revolution, every life.
Feel it come alive inside the mind of the gratuitous and torturous throbbing soul. 

you know. 

i know you fucking know it. 

because i am you.
you are me. 

We are not meant to be healed. 

we.
are.
meant.
to.
fucking.
feel

do you feel that? 

can you hear it calling? 

The beckoning tides of rise. 

come to me.
come to you. 

come. come. cum. 

fall. 

come. come. come. 

break. 

come. come. come. 

take. 

come. come. come. 

breathe. 

come come come. 

consume. 

cum cum cum to your truth. 

come come come. 

lie. 

come come come. 

die. 

come come come. 

resurrect. 

come come come. 

RISE, open to life.

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