ConCurrent

Post traumatic death order, give it up to God and let him sort out this mortal.. The stress is a portal, when you see there's nothin' left, go deaf, be dormant.. It'll torment what's best for yourself, insubordinate.. Tell it for the self, who's origin.. Eat disorder, would you eat the same bread if the yeast was deformin'.. It may rise to the top, same compound high fives, or do you drop.. Gravitate away from the same molder, melting pot.. Design your own holder, or be dealt by the plot.. Stereotypical ass me, so critical, does it stop.. Unofficially free, dad's heed, then I walk..