See how nature can expose a nigga

In any case my body makes the sentences. Now I'll never know which bruises you gave me and which ones I made myself, running through our melted rehab looking for green grapes. Leaping into limp air to soar past the famous graves. Is salvation that laugh you hear coming closer when Alice Coltrane plays Mantra for John. He beat her to it. That was rude and chivalrous. Those were horses and fists in his eyes and remorse and a child, goodbye. This is a world full of sociopaths and when you change, liar. This world is only love but most men love backwards. Did he beat me, too? I want to ask my mother. Am I lovable. Am I part of the tribe, screamer. I don't remember any pain. How do we get any closer unless we cause one another pain? I don't remember