I’ve studied life, as to agree with death this needed
intervention; while souls perish, as to come to light, sanctioned in a
sanctuary. The grave was calling, as to
silence love, to meet her as a young wand. We danced with fever, as clever as
gnomes, sitting this sightless sanity. I’m deep in sadness, this cycle of
souls, as centered in a monsoon. I wanted love, this type of insanity, a
grandparent rocking softly…to have for passion, this family of crime, so fair a
legacy; as to see her eyes, choking in radiance, as big as a blue moon; where
times are gray, while love is drunk—this woman craving desire; to feel as
fools, that madly enlove, skipping upon airwaves. I’ve trekked a soul, lost to
fancy, while hell revs as sophisticated. It’s ever surreal, this line of
thought, as headed towards glory; whereto, is magic, this graphic attraction,
held as steady in space. I love us more, broken in fractions, traipsing through
meadows; as to fill this heart, this beating storm, raging through eternity.
I’ve cried this wound, fawning through perfection, to love us as a fantasy. Let
it be gentle, this falling insanity, this tear bouncing upon flames; as to tour
this night, this bleeding landscape, stressing the tides of deserts; as more
familiar, this series of spirits, rising through boundless bars. It couldn’t be
love, this favored feeling, while love cleaves to another soul; and more this
feeling, as grieving this life, applauded by minions; to see this face,
barreled in green eyes—and loathing this soul. Our dearest tears, as to paint a
treasure, this cascade of souls; while hell pardons, our flying minds, and sewn
into majesty; whereat, are seconds, our measured illusion, as knowing it
couldn’t breathe; while spiders flirt, as to ruin life, the two to mate and
die.
