Tragic Video

Oh sweet melody, those sensational eyes, as crying this soul; to die a fraction, as pure seduction, a goddess crawling—in full control, this deep illusion, as begging tendencies. I’m falling forward, peering at videos, feeling this other side—as sheer darkness, or sophisticated sin, while pleading mercy—to have such grace, that inner argument, to wrangle a soul. It’s electric deeply, this chiding sensation, to wander for love; this valley of angels, this alley of cherubs, this furious chariot; as more to slippers, this Cinderella, affected through pills this chaos. I caught a vein, his life his eyes, as cordial madness; to love as fools, to wrestle as heathens, to scream immortally—this fraction of me, as pure addiction, or sheer delusion. I’m having visions, that smelted figure, that womb by hours our affliction; to court justice, while lying as fun, this immoral friction; to be addicted, tasting salt, as mixed with perfume; this miracle mind, an album on repeat, as spacey to live this uncouth. We gambol madness; laugh insanity; as wistful broken souls; to adore misery, jotting a masterpiece, cringing at hearts that contact; where fools brew, as stirred insanity, while a harbinger travels our mind-banks. I should to perish, gazing electricity, while to enter this brain; wherewith, our grand piano, our outer symphony, our tragic rays; as seen a halo, this saintly sinner, as fraught through trespass—our miracle souls, nibbling poison, framed in dolor—this mystic joy, that ardent body, those fallen limbs; as purposed to sin, our holy garbs, this fence bleeding wires: this violet curse; this cryptic burst; this force through lust our animal selves. It came to fortune, as pulling this poet, our upstream dusky visions; whereto, this gust of spirits, enslaved by powers, as yanking at Penelope—this miracle mile, trekking meadows, as seated with wolves—this green fever, or beige wits, while death would mock survival; this sickly love, this broken keel, our starlight appraisals. We must desist; as whet our prophecy; as pure our mire—this cry through flames, to shiver in ecstasy, this man walking to Canada. I’ve pled insanity, stationed in sanity, while burning in affections; where ghosts appear, as mirrored reflections, this special type of tragedy: to sense love; to die love; as fools claiming love.