17

she’s in a routine. that’s mean and lean. she feels unclean. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

she replays the days that weighs on her heart. 

she doesn’t understand why there’s still separation, and they are a part. there’s no love. what the world sees is not her be. the he she hides is the one that makes her cry.

after all the lies and binds that tied them to the world. 

it’s still not enough, because their souls are cold. 

their silence as a forced alliance is no longer looking bold. together they’re looking old, pressed on hold and stressed. the pending confess is a halted profess. the press to resume is permanent on the zoom to the unfolded. when the world says yes but God says no. Only God can make you Go. they are both on stop. 

she’s in a routine. That’s mean and lean. she feels unclean. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

he was her muse. the popular guy that lied, who didn’t want her, but her persistence got her him. she who findeth not he. over time he got dim and trim. he’s not at his best and neither is she. still in this truth she wanted them forever to be. she thought it was enough to keep him to see only her. 

she’s in a routine. That’s mean and lean. she feels unclean. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

their union actuated his swing, to make her sting. his pendulum is a continuum of confusion because she’s the wrong she. he sees she shouldn’t be wearing his ring. she was the talk of the town forever in her head. all she got was seconds then everything became dead. he’s heavy lead that poisons her eyes, because of the world she’s poisoned by the mystery of his history. he’s not the same. he’s decreasing as she’s releasing what she can no longer salute in a mute. 

she’s in a routine. That’s mean and lean. she feels unclean. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

there’s nothing truthful or fruitful about this forced alliance. even popularity can no longer keep this silenced. Popularity isn’t God. If God is your proven solution, then God controls your swing. she needs to surrender to reject her recurring stings. 

there’s a shaking hinge that makes her binge. on the addictions that took her to her predictions. what worked for her, is now what’s stopping her. she’s not in ease because she feels like she cannot breathe. the strong in this walk of wrong is not in ease. she’s all talk. she needs to release. she’s screaming at an internal high volume. But her external cry is a silent consume. she cannot press play on resume. there’s no use. the lie in this dance is just a ruse. 

he doesn’t love her. 

she’s in a routine. That’s mean and lean. she feels unclean. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

she doesn’t feel seen, heard or covered. her routine in his lean of mean in feeling unclean. despite her legal title, she’s in a wrong cycle. in her mind, the time is binded. but she’s dying inside of her winded alignment. he doesn’t see her because he doesn’t want her. it’s a hallow swallow she decided to follow. Permanently because she didn’t chose eternity. she chose him. the slim and trim that’s a rapid wildfire radiating rust. he feels like he will combust. she triggers his radiating rust. his flesh. she triggers his flesh. There’s no God in flesh. There’s no God in them.

she’s in a routine. That’s mean and lean. she feels unclean. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

her world and his still cannot collide. she feels in time if she still hides, then her lie will be justified. But God is her Cornerstone Best, that she shut out for his worldly rest of flesh. he’s not God’s best. he’s just a painful test. 

she cannot rest because this truth hurts. this truth has so much supernatural and tangible proof. she’s still choosing aloof. she’s seeing and being, her moment with him that truly expired. her replay made her grim. this reality makes him slim and trim. she sees their problems that’s a fire. A fire she can put out. truthfully, she’s an expired reason, that’s overstaying as a legal season. But if God is her problem, then only God is her solution. 

she’s in a routine. That’s mean and lean. she feels unclean. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

she’s 17. 

To end this loop, she must bow down and decide to be only God’s Troop. The truth is the truth. What’s done in the dark always comes to light. Only God has the paintbrush. she won’t win this fight. this legal chaos isn’t a stroke of luck, it’s deliberate permitted actions to conduct a message, by God cleaning the insides out of their emitted lessons. Regardless of their pouts and shouts. Every knee bows. God’s Will is always done. The Rushing Wind is here. Regardless of their fears, and all her tears hidden by her silent years, these pale scales can no longer prevail. the whale will spit them out. The tears are happening to that veil. this ship will never sail. his weary winks are a symboled message of their unavoidable sink. 

Selah. 

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