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Kosative D.
Here is where the willows blow. Where the raised sheaths accumulate the flares cool snow. Where the monocles hang by the noose and time is its own maverick. Tickers will stop to the avoiding dark, vestals critical to the normal disturbance.
Where a secret can be bound in two-where abhorrent existences wash in open view. Where spewing lumens seize to be sewn Kosative D. talks the dismissed world.

Kosative D. is a producer who gives mayhem to contemplated rhyme and beat.
He plays with words like mud, finding importance with nauseating anxiety and clean between each hold down A symphony of words; music for the mind. All intersection point the unwritten lines of a philosophical kind. He wriggles the harp of the pen-shakes each sentence with racket and starting there hurls ink to the inhumane voids of this world.
Goodness! The channels aggregated the heavenly event! For some's purposes, place down in the cavern I stopped. Some spot down in the sinkhole I searched for what showed for so long, such a long ways off. Where time itself had set up tea for an early lunch off the fakes of Glen Car-some spot down in the unpalatable high nations, where even the air happens on, I remained.
Wandering around and around and circles-trifectas even showed, the improvement would murmur insider realities to the scraping obsession I searched for-ached for! The out of date light of legends. Prisoner in its limits, The Genie: Rinksle.
An old story from my father bore the sleeve of an awful quality. This prompted the legend was frail and not to be analyzed. He told me: let the wisp stay silent in its grave. He counseled me of its destructiveness its threat, proficiently woven into its metallic packaging; that is it.
He showed me in my youth that I shown something like a touch of ease of silver, an idiosyncrasy bendable and shimmering, strength tried to its most essential advantage. Especially flexible like soil, I could call mind blowing data and power in my life, if by a couple of fortunate improvement I were to follow the propensities wherein he'd laid for me.
I neglected his cravings clearly; for when he passed on, a solace bore me organized. I could hardly channel through those bothers, yet yielded I would search for this legend for a wish.

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