it’s
been unlikely that life so sutured or gray or reliving embarrassments. while
others are proud such disgrace is ignored while that man over there can’t be
forgiven. that horrible soul, to call it a spade, while tender into darker
sciences. what damning concerns but a perfect unity while he must submit. pure
vanity in humans those animals in veins or curses by abomination. (“we have a
group, we think the same, so, it must be righteous.”) such cohesion. such
wretched silence. if but to maintain such deeper sullenness. our minds with
shoulders, our scars with Amor All, our mirrors with Windex. as casual resisters,
even denying our hunches, where a man is guilty negated his trial. but fathom
our nights or pierce our cores into mystic profanity. our higher selves while
so lonely where simplicity has long given up its ghosts—for Love was activated,
Love was drugged, while Love adored every grain. such that life for years, such
ritualized dynasties, where normality is not appealing. it seems to suffocate,
in an unfriendly world, where I will degrade you but never respect you. people murmur,
a gent is about fruits, while others are enticing what troubles to break free.
but advocates desire repose if but to journey where a gentleman’s esteem must
never desist; for it becomes hell, while she’s pushed and hurting, if but to
request unyielding forgiveness.
