_Ghostspeed_

I don't know. Its like people show up in random blotches.
Once a cure, once a scar. But even the cure isn't good enough.
It hurts so bad. As I can;t even talk to you.
I can't even say that I exist.

That I would see black in the way its not racist.
That I would talk to it and enhance what is not required.
That meaningless existence is mutual.
And that should be embraced.

Lured and crafted to specified streams.
Of all sorts of kind, of all sorts of people.
A montage and a series of visions,
Like a blur of obscene gestures.

In a way we all see.
We all take as it seems to be.
A curious page of concerns,
And a necessity of speed.

Nothing but speed.