There you go again with that unfinished product which you call, “ideas.” The never ending stream of conscious thoughts regulating each minute detail of result-driven action. Comprehensive brain chatter for the soul with no price- chest full of ice. Murder-intensive nightmares swing by their tails while heaven’s pendulum catches each glimpse by the glare. Dirty espresso soothes like lacquer, but the tangled mess of unfulfilled demands ball-up like used bandages. Confused by subjective standards that shatter each benchmark- to sell out or die by the art?