The serpent feather.

I am.

Ride the wings of the feather serpent, the words form a puzzle. I see the light of the day, scattered through cracks of places I’ve been, I’ll send you a post card. The happiest time, the blink of my eyes its gone. My fury friends that provided comfort, the happy dance at the door key. I’m at the crossroads, with nowhere to go, fresh out of ideas, and all out of gas, lifes a trip. The realism that provides truth is somewhat skewed in my minds eye, the two beings on my shoulders are always fighting.

This forms the emotions that I cannot explain, I put into detail for what it’s worth. The author in my head talks to much. 

When reality becomes clear, things will appear as they are. For now, I’m just riding the wings of a feathered serpent.

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