Wet Clay

The unconditioned mind is a
fun time naturally designed by
the same people who snatch it from|
behind. They leave a
blind eye to: the infestation of
thought: institutionalized
torture. The unconditioned mind has

a death without funeral, scars of
used data molded like
wet clay: shaped with
gunky hands. The hypocrisy of
telling the mind to be itself but fracturing the
spine and shattering the mind until
the mind is a cast wrapped around like
duct tape: taped with
gunky hands. But the hands

bathe in wet tar, tar
spilled over by hands with
purple skin, skin kept fresh like
a fruit picked and bitten, a bite of
fresh juice tingling the taste buds and it is
naturally sweet and desired: artificial unwanted. Artificial

mind trained like processed
sugar: wanted. But no mind is
sugar, like no mind is a
freshly-picked fruit: fruit left
untrained by purple hands cleaned of
wet tar: a cesspool below with
gunky hands touching fresh minds and leaving
prints that mold it like wet clay: the
unconditioned and deceased.