Blunts torn to his twenty-six year old

A mafia of the sky

Sitting, waiting for his sex

To fall on his body 

So he could trace his identity

And his desires

Now does it fall from heaven?

Or rather rise from hell?

Or have they both met here

Right at his body

Slink into the skin of your bones

Taught when you lean

A devil laughs when you bleed

An angel bleeds when you you laugh

A body knows it's blue 

Hello

Ideas are coming together like the beads on my necklace. We are all different kinds of beads strung on a string. The string has two ends, and to keep the beads from falling off the necklace, the ends must be tied in a knot. The only way we can have the necklace be one thing.. one circle...we must tie the ends. The paradoxes at their strongest ends of the same string must be bonded to each other, so the beads don't fall off.