Frayed fingers tips struggle to grip the pen that trap these words to the present day. If they had their way I’d never hold them down. Always floating out of my mind, into the future. Some days remebered, others left as if never thought. I write so much, so little is left to my imagination. I don’t imagine, I reimagine. I see the world as it as, and I write as it should. Harping on violence and death only tells them that I want more. That I need more. Justification is not pure. Vengeance is criminally blind. Judiciary systems chop off hands blindfolded. Hamstrung by our own weaknesses we create enemies that exceeed our greatest strengths. We run in circles but hold up banners. We stand over another human and say the war is won. We fly to the moon then say god does not exist. If humans were any less intelligent, I’d say we were publicly educated.