We Crawled Our Pit

The deeper our thoughts, the richer our requirements!  I’m chipping at soot, drinking smaze, alarmed at feelings; to have this rain, or even this sorrow, while adrift those medias; this florid pain, that gravel of invites, this world suspicious of nuances; where hell was culture, that dying excitement, as challenged to become this figure.  Have we touched it; that steep existential, steering insanity; as stirred to exist, pleading with children, waxing as to die—this floret calm, unraveled deeply, a psych too skilled for death; that sky-board art, those crafts by pash, this maze his death I live!  It had to be us, this sullen pair, at kef this arrival as sober; to live assaulted, peering at that epithet, at shames to cross Buddha’s river.  I felt abashed, this inner dogmatic, preaching at a sodden soul; this root by aunties, as casual friction, where cousins cringe our departure.  I’m feeling low, this space of unknowing, at membrance this delicate lotus; to conjure that name, this four part converse, as our hearts loom in victories; as dead to live, this repeated schedule, at wars to awaken; that delicate chaos, informing our breaths, where mothers cleave to delicacies.  I had to die, in order to exist, as life proves as novelties; this inkling of joys, to repeat our contracts, where unsaid ink becomes aloof.   I invested in love, too young for love, where love would glow with time. We dined forever, as a bit mundane, as she needed adventure; this daily near death, as excited to perish, while we fell apart; to rise come morning, this repeated cycle, invested come death in passion.  I fell aloof, as cleaving concrete, where Love sought adventures.  I’m feeling nostalgic, screeching this chalkboard, seated at our teacher’s desk; this fragile power, as strong adversities, lurking in segments our thoughts; to come to terms, while sipping coke, as to have rearranged furniture.  Our weeks are calling, this place of passions, to avoid feeling beyond seconds; this failed attempt, while gripping features, at love that hour of tyranny; where ashes linger, as to form a verb, while liquor has sat a millennium; this partial fool, at eyes to perish, gripping for clawing at insanity.  I’ve loved a swan, while to loathe a dove, as to conjure this feeling of inadequacies; as times were alive, where I couldn’t prevail, as to lose something that had lost itself.  I’m breaking light, infused with traumas, while thinking of this force; where hell is passing, as heaven is living, where both are deemed as fiction.