jeremiad pains such chorus frights or
signs we purpose. it would kill something those thalassic islands such mágoa
distressors. (I was frabjous early on or adrift a silent planet by reaper
confusion.) so much addiction those parts as destroying something decent—exposed
to skin at luxurious poolhalls so convinced the world was dying! a fuddled man
a hermetic mystic or a silent advocate. such solasta thoughts wanting to adore
you while hoping you would love us—or you!
I
shirk a feeling or pet a dolphin something friendly but naïve—this place in me
this thread in skies where I confess an aberration: the smart man, the unhinged
past, while too aplomb to claim normality. (I will share something fuddling in
this space of screams, we often need to love: as some sort of protection, our innermost
goombah, so taken by words we don’t fully believe in: something un-cogent
seeming our needs or pampering our vanity.)
it
isn’t aeonian or so cured it can’t shatter or so cemented it shall never wear
misery. it’s flexible or pliable or destined for flux, ingratitude, or
praiseworthy. a person might be nice, to such nuance, until something becomes
carking. such vocab as dice while it becomes augmenting or entertaining for the
Sun Lake. the author feels superluminal while humbled where life is slipping
our grasps. the stravage soul so desertlike in need of something to believe in,
or to achieve, where a carrot should always dangle nearby.
such
mendacious acts or medicant pleading so measured by our conceptions: our
implacable souls our fastidious passions where we are quite pretentious. such ostentatious
theatrics seeming believable, but there is a want to adhere, to accede, to
desire the root promise of the lies we hear. I am filled with ambiguities,
while considered the aberration, the nemesis, the archenemy—where others have
done so much more. it becomes a question, as it stirs within, What is it
about this particular person?
