the
dark apple those murky cherries at some appointment. our cautious observation. I
hit a button. I get to see mother. oh it hurts it cries it’s astronomical. the
galaxy is filled with addicts or pimps or monsters. to bleed by daughters to
hate self or to culture so well he appears coldness. the frigid vacuum or those
warm days while Love eats chocolate those five depressions. such chemical such
flights where we apologize, break silence, or more tolerance. I have a ghost it
plays violin it destroys comfort-zones. I hear an echo I disappear I return in
traffic. the battle is ritualized. so many courtships. they become unwelcomed
auras. there’s a tattoo inside it
stitches into spirit where a man might ask a scientist for its mirror. I must relax or re-channel or walk a long
journey—the road inside-out the downcast so tense it gives elegy. if but so
close if but to realize goodness where a man sees pessimisms—or lights so dim
gnomes are chasing liberty. I would
call it by love. it seemed so incredible. while many just open their
hearts. our countenances our glitter or
so orgasmic everything looks academic. at childlike passages or sensitive to
resistance where even life is up for dismissal. I have loved from afar. I have scarred a
scream. where lungs have become shadows.
(you might run where woods are darkness or you might sit in depressions;
you might curvature a dainty valley, or feel too strong to sustain it, while
many are dependent upon something you can’t give. indeed, you might feel
invincible or semi-crazy, while needing a father is clouded by pure rage. but
seek solace, be smart, do not destroy innocence, for once it disappears, it
becomes something impossible to regain.)
I was infatuated but it happened in an instance where it ran amuck. this
is existence. it happens in a second. where we become proud or sullen.
by hems or
shoulders if but something extra-spatial; or at terror to love at fast moving
days while nights are lonely at cabinets.
I listen to auras such pain in music while Truth is a Beautiful Thing.
“It’s overrated. It’s too
miserable. I can’t endorse it.” but
havens crumble or church has a serpent where countenances only reflect a
portion of our lies!
