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Eager Scrap

A fraught love, inside of rocks, watch them and see a fake, deep time. You will also see you, seeing. See your present, flesh-self, up against truths, time before you and after you. You were heading for such glory before you looked at a rock. You will attempt at youth, legacies and artistic immortality, try again, but know nothing you produce will have the consistency of a rock. It is new in its permanence, and will eat you with its presence. It meets beings all the time, in flesh, and in chaos. It has a capacity to hold such up. It owns your time, and your looks, what you produce comes from another unpredictable, fleshy one. Good mess, you will never produce rock.