Our Flame Dismissed Eternity, as Time would Yell

It takes as fortune, this mulatto force, as cursed as blessed—where sections churn, this wealth of woes, to originate as a person; this sense of glory, those days as tortured, while feigning wellness our races. It must for darkness, this beautiful skin, this shadow by lights our privilege; to die eternal, while resurrecting, feeling this force of passions. I lost a swan, while crossing cultures, to realize this deep schism; to love his own, while avoiding racism, to judge one by the many; as opposed to cursing life, by experience of one, where the many are rightly an adventure. I’ve lived broken, to sense wholeness, while chasing this turquoise moon: this vivid affection, while legs assert passions, where arms were lacking in reach; this velvet sun, cringing disasters, where hell was nursing its son; this rich embrace, cased in darkness, where fireballs erupted a mansion. It had to live us, this forest of thoughts, while tender that admission: as homespun, this win of flares, to kiss by distance this chi. I love a vision, as spoken with crimes, this place in souls a locomotive; to change as treasured, this wave of violence, where souls crumble in awareness; that short hello, those shards of winds, while one journeys into a new love; this face of how, but a day alone, where that outcome became another’s chaos. I dig eternal, at breakage with lights, where love was convenient; as opposed to Lotusland, this feeling of fools, as to awaken seeking this love. I’ve broken with breaths, to arrive this fire, as to hell with redeeming demons; where love was mystic, this miss-advice, while Love sought its next adventure. I’m deep at needs, to feel this human, if but to walk away; where heaven would shine, as enlove with breaths, this kef of disappointments. Our misery kills, this pool of feelings, while we admire this fading episode; whereat, are castles, shattered by actions, where she never loved. It was but a fad, this garbage of smiles, while peering at neighbors; but hell to fashion, this man of tears, alive that breaking moment. I must decrease, as sentenced to die, where love is too short; for ours was glory, that fantastic womb, those cheerleading eyes; to live with grace, as filled by secrets, at tears to abuse our mother’s ideals; for love’s immortal, a father to cringe, to know for so many suitors. It had to live freely, this writhing art, where souls abandon dungeons; as bent to shiver, this touch of rashness, while love could have been—this fragrant grizzle, at pistol’s amore, this face by earth a treasured train; to live with kisses, as turned to hells, this force that abolished a promised flame.