Bad poetry

There's messages you'll get and their hidden in the sun. they're written like a code all how my father said. you look deep within you and see how the grass weaves together the brown and greenery. messages their written in the sand. it is quite like one big slap in the face telling you things you already know just much more sharp or well you know just "much more" and whether you like it or you don't, you know it all to be true. whether you want to take that away or not, is entirely up to you. And ill read this in my sober days ad think to this, oh yeah, from when my conscious was looking for a grasp or taste of home. well yeah, its written in these codes. Mother Earth, you know, she surely knows, a tune of life in which untold. and I can't really explain it further than this. its a mystery it comes, it goes, it is. nothing more than that enscrippded in the rubble. flesh of words you must encode. scripts of "who was?" leaves you muddled. to a pulp of wanting reason. reason deep within you, a source, a force, you want to face. only to look in those eyes and see a mirror. deep within you nothing left to face, but you. tell it to me in all seriousness. a sense of humor marked these words and those words could not be beared to hear. the words themselves, they want to be unreadable. 
seeking profanity and rawness in lifes everyday mysteries
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