Dark Interior (Pendulum)

Such casual malaise, as present uneasiness, this twist about music; at mercy his life, threaded by twines, as liquid as first impressions; to perish but lies, or live a miracle, so tortured that gorgeous insanity; while crawling systems, at hopes to evolve, that inner argument; where portraits fall, encased in trauma, our prying into majesties; insomuch, as turmoil, embedded in luxuries, our panic but heartbeats; to muse a castle, at paradise a garden, at Tai Chi a vessel; to kiss a flower, or nibble a petal—those roots we suckled as children: that epic perfume; those diamond earrings, that expression by tongues.  I’m running afar, those mistakes by heels, a bit fortunate this life: that inner shadow, at parish by nights, this fire thrusting its spear; to revolve as bullets, this petit confession, while outsung those wrung(s) of existence. I’m reading literature, as more an individual, this space afforded to misfits; our deep casualties, those inner personas, that crime to mourn such beauty; this fantastic tragedy, as caged a soul, this yen to break free; as piercing brains, while speaking truths, where afforded a close infraction: that beige light; those ruby terrors; this woman so far from silence: at Cajun rivers, where geese would swarm, our hearts mesmerized. It dies softly, this bliss by energies, to have written a sacred diary; while choosing infinity, at blank insanity, accustomed to composing to phantoms; this inner life, as confused reality, to feel less he confessed he missed the mark. I’m soon to wonder, concerning parents, if life has ran its course: that deep regret, to have said so little, while weary to have said too much: our social reigns, as infused pilgrims, entering into mental catastrophe—that mucky pond, those lucid visions, that falling as rising again a child; as reaching for love, that treasured support, accustomed to our feelings. It’s time for change, as soaring through ether, while grounded our wits; this terrible reality, flinging an Ouija board, musing Adele our ears; such inner crimes, our mirrors resuscitating, our brains flipping Spanish coins; to see us moving, trickled in particles, our heart-tickles as confetti; to sense it living, as deep for pressures, accustomed to perfection.  (We capture a glimpse, running through vestibules, feeding fragile realities—as born a centipede, an incarnated pigeon, as morphing into humanness: those memories merging, that song at cliffs, our music affecting our fountain of sights: if birthed through passions, as crashed a soul, this island expecting angels: that rabid arc, those pressured veins, our faces exploding with kindness; or more to softness, this infinite glow, as permeated by fusions: our lives as treasured, our souls as scattered, our intestines as wailing; that outer blueprint, impressing its fury, while aloof to negotiations; that deep resistance, as becoming methods, at which, are fiery streams). I’m wailing shadows, a fortnight of depression, as affected in prose: such rich meditation, a bottled firefly, running, mimicking haunted houses—that deep sincerity, as a full-length mirror, to wonder of interior furniture; as songs would trigger, that faint ignition, while a transmission shifted gears. I’m one with sadness, attempting to rev, at hawks for courage such plights; as fusing temperaments, this silent dance, a mirage unveiling—that force as thunder; our clouds as harbingers; our feelings as symphonic. I was once a child, at mnemonic devices, while appearing to self a mere fledgling: those curious slants; those mature segues; this angst rooted in pressures; as deep exaggeration, by every event, such preparations for feeling haunted: those weary winters; that flock of strangers; those spirits encased in auras: to vanish a thought; to arise anew; but a second to peace those kilns: that sagic life, as losing answers, alone engulfed by mirrors; as peeking his face, this person of dreams, to find as self such realities; while steeped in colors, or bland blocks, this vetted peace with analyses; as if we sung, this gentle clarity, where each response correlated with actualities: that hidden self, such faith in mirrors, while to encounter phenomenon firstly.