Tutored Tortured Mind

It is like watching TV, fifty different channels rolled into one, excited an utterance was is. Contently, amazed at the way, you twist the wind of breath, your tongue, string wiggling. I hide, your eyes diffrent hue when I sleep is then awake the rake in Moulin Rouge, was happy scoundrel, stone of Braille's story lines. Your lines more than dare the mind, they cross a time of different days, lost, gone. You were taught by one not of me, you do like the edge of space, the cut of razors mouth more than your cheeks, you bleed me out. Arms of your chair, grip you tight, the colors left you *sigh*come back in, from the rain.