The quality
is defined by effort as realities are somewhat closed. Those musical elements
or so striking it hurts at rebirth and stagnant; such colorful dogma such
ancient presence while most are aching over privileges; our underestimated
souls trying with desperation if but so enlove this breaking of time; those
days debating with self or eyes closed to passion or something eating as
arranged for pesticides; our arteries, Love, our purer insanities, while so low
it’s impossible to stand straight. If but to adore one if but those adolescent romances
laced with adult philosophy; to locate existence found in this creature while
nine grandkids later love is whistling.
Such
darker depressive states so buried but breathing or so cursed it feels normal.
I have
managed by non-reality my mind remaining blank but something provokes those
greener islands; at a miracle in you so inclined and motivated while unalert to
phantom relations; to think about old drillings or to elope with possibility while
so distrusting and finding what I have not sought; to love daringly to deny
tentative attraction where a second afterwards something is filled by regrets;
this world of activities those poets so wild while something aches for a particular
poetess; to watch sophistication so filthy it screams so distinguished it was
nightmare to lose; our minds at this pike our guts unwrapped while something
otiose is so important.
It was
something to unlock me this angelic demon those tentacles bleeding remorse. It was
something to kill me as a man running into forever so lost and found in an
infinite wire. So fragrant in silence or so filled with purple at something a
song tries to explain; this connection in hearts this valley of patience while
something rural is disdained by the city; those faster moves this person for
anyone or those few so selective; to need so much in sequence if but to align with
agony and ideals; this crazed personality as watching and recording while a
certain moment becomes history; those telic discourses into that sudden
collapse while it was generated by purpose; our qualified minds our liquidated
souls at something becoming too pure to undress.
I do
exaggerate this jacket at his soul this quilt at his funeral.
It was
weeks into this study where Love was education or something a person identifies
too quickly; or it was wretched to feel attraction where existence was
screaming to run; those terrified cravings or this terrified moon while sick
with something humans’ desire; at miracle compassion to sense those incredible
cries while sudden into something those intimacies; as a crazed soul speaking
purgatory so elevated into something removed; those endless keys this deep
panic while so much negative love has celebrated into science; this specter
screaming this decisive feeling so undercut such a flaming umbrella—into something
that never blossoms or a flower forever budding up and so close it died.
To listen
to jasmine sunshine or to hear a private thought as so accustomed to admiring
by seclusion; this alien earth so intimate a friend while nature is chaotic;
but Love is too appealing and death is so close but if to die this travesty;
such beautiful miracles or such flaming guts into something the foci of
infinity; so cursed in you or so blessed he couldn’t see at reminders to
un-adore you; our intelligent sewers our passions fuming by something too alert
to fully fathom; this caper to abandon me this bastille to impassion us while
alive for death and loving you.
