Fate Stands Aloof

I turn music coffin where reality is un-sketched, I feel un-winged. it distresses while peering closer, you would allow me those cries. a sour lemon or a bit of sugar where mother bought a pumpkin. something is obvious, we bend to achieve, if but stability or phantasmagoria. I was a king those screams, unvetted or curdling, while some things are significant. I can’t shake self, or pieces given to eras, where basics haunt the unnurtured memory. it would be righteous for some or uncivilized for others while taking many to an old space. I haven’t felt those feelings, but I am willing to learn. such gloomy incentives or waters falling near creeks where the canyon is dark. so many seams or hems while laundry has been left but attended. it couldn’t be essence this life with years insomuch as such accumulation; as a dovetail flaps wildly or an alley cat meows in such murky spaces. to need laughter where unreality it might falsify its conception; so glazed over or watching tensions while given something it seems selfish. but a soul is unseen a mind often protects by projections where a few attempt to see too closely: the smelted gold or unfamiliar emotions or metal for higher-up fences. such sharp images or imaginary hopes while putting so much on miracles. I couldn’t find the old one, even while dying something felt deceived, insomuch as we feel detached from our agendas. such math these weeks such dangerous assumptions while specializing at sulking.