It's just my way of conveying bittersweet
I wasn't lookin' to feel bad about anything or anyone but my sixth sense got me to look to the left when I should of been looking to the right. It's that my sixth sense was right. It tried to spare me, avoid me, from a direct view. It's the peripheral view while passing that takes at least ten steps and not two to think it through like a color that's new to you that you never saw before. Another way of saying it, I was half way cross the street when it struck me. It was ducking me.
What the fuck am I doing, pursuing. Nothing makes sense the moment fingers are for touch, words can talk, steps meet, eyes that greet face to face for the trial of real and denial.
I created the evidence and the verdict is a moot point.
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