Crinoidal

Somehow feeling happy once again. With the eloquence of authors disguising their crinoid minds with modernity… I find a niche. Last night was a dark night filled with the fluttering of black and iridescent crows. Thousands of feet of altitude have provided my head with the space necessary to reclaim a moment of joy as sweet as the Moscato wine I used to dry the oozing depression from a violent altercation. Some things make for an unhappy piece of heaven right down on Earth. The auburn in my brown hair is calling my attention because it has been running wild and clouding my vision once again. Home states are screeching my name and I recall how proud I am of my mother and father, the latter not being biological. I miss my gorgeous baby brother that blew me kisses more frequently than the wind blew the palm fronds of Florida. Flying over old homes brings me back to memories of Alligator Alley and thunderous days that have forever scarred my memory with imprinted grasses on my soul. I would sit on the driveway and contemplate whether I was truly alive. Last night I pounded fists on the table and shattered the walls of my glass body from the inside as the pressure rose to extremes. Within me there existed plasma ready to leek out of my brown eyes in hues of red from all the oceans of my eyes, the saltiest of the saltiest. Every breath I am taking moves my face through cool clouds of what appear to be gray water droplets. They are holding themselves together the same way I held my knees to my chest as I kept myself together. Last night felt like the last night.

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