The
ending—my Love; to justify means, to give us an edge; its unorthodox, in an
orthodox setting, to play pretend. We burry so much, to plague ourselves,
filled with frantic minds. I feel more your soul, a man who couldn’t think, to
finally separate selves. It came at unawares, this inner division, bigger than
they let on; so read the lines, to hear the tones, to see the shifts. Our
battle is exclusive—and not for ruins, to witness our mirrors. We can’t for
hiding, to hear a glimpse, to offset for weeks. I want for more, the midnight moon,
and the morning Day Star. Has it happened; something that speaks—to the realms
of fey? I pressure control, to see for guidance, an independent vessel. This
threatens souls; to witness such growth, to feel the strength; but never
retreat—the gates of silence, to mold the invisible; and trek Forever, scolding follies, that closer
to Becoming—even a feyic self. I
thought to wonder, to finally hear it, Your
days are paved. Has it happened; even a heavy chest, even a passing fire?
It’s ever intimate, to feel a different self, to speak sparsely. I couldn’t
fathom, this very lot, to win in fractions. It’s not for misunderstood, that
proves as anomaly, to then outcast the dragons; but rather to peer, even for
deeply, ever to investigate; where minds are pained, to probe the regions, as
opposed to not trying; so we ever fly, the endless skies, to trek the outer planes;
and most important, it’s ever you, fevered with passion—to out-write a father,
to learn from scholars, a gentle application. It takes for years, to keep it
private, to share with likeminded souls; if only to perish, and only to live,
to gain access; where this is life, that inner realm, fevered through raving
souls.
