such
dear memories if but more complication where one feels incapable of expression.
he says: “I must believe in deepness, or else, an impassive ghost, where life
isn’t experienced.” sure passive reality, made difficult by aggressors, where
one says: “He must push harder.”
the
days are mediocre our times, or existence is rapturous, where the in-between is
monotony. such coldness or some method intended to point out some type of
breakage. our interior polemics our passion quite unflappable while most people
are assessing self-reflection. the center is self, but one is with few experiences,
where it’s a challenge to meet fairness. our worlds are petite our winds are
similar our thoughts have origins. (to speak to self, or panic by forgiveness,
where a person’s reflection has done them the most concern. such battlegrounds.
or pure negligence. while one might become apathetic. but lost thinkers, or by
one ingredient, where we need the entire spice rack.) with patience or
diligence one constructs an inner compass. for its hush to see self. we must
wash away the debris. where a complete image points to breakage. (some do ‘things’
where they feel horrible while desiring to repeat the behavior. it’s a damaging
cliché, in this patch of cabbage, as we must condition our innermost regions.)
we’re promised a few facts, while everything else is by our behavior, insomuch
as sensing deeper self-hatred patterns. I digress into measures of joy as
accustomed to a sustaining principle—while a bit abased but functional or
sitting with a mental ransom: such cooked greens or boiled eggs to look, vomit,
and chunk up a demon. to see it wiggling to grab a utensil where it disappears
through one’s face. those years splayed or minced where something comes to
focus while the house in laughter. by interior ghosts while moving slowly to
realize the room is empty. just one person, plus, projectiles, where walls are
unfolding. such naked wilderness or Sahara desolation while there’s a dearth of
mobile assessments. so tender into a blender, by social execution if but to
detail the carnage or vagueness. one says: “It’s too rough or stringent, the
design is not for me, or I have become the ‘things’ I loathe.”
