by
staccato interruption or legato sequences where it comes to destroy us. it
roars it laughs it’s a warehouse of promises or a storehouse of religious ropes.
upon concrete stairs or glass tables where I damaged so completely. such
ugliness so unable to heal, for pain kept coming; so unkempt so Lana Del Rey as
one screaming out, “Uncle.” it might be those eyes or a quick turn at so much
independent patience. (as an interlude, so much between souls, to see such deep-rooted
agony: the anguish of a voice, the unhappy solace, or so close I must sin where
it devastates us!) such dim feelings unless I untie sorrow where she is such
vein or vanity as a right to claim urgency. so, hence, a monster, so reborn, so
uncaptured, while subdued—the fury of skies those hinges so loose as chiefs if
but one last appeal. by pendulum these anxieties so curbed as delightful as to
sit, harmonize, while reintroduced to self. too many undressed our naked
vulnerability where most women are proud—or souls or pains such bone such
marrow or a diligent appetite. was it true, as so darkened, where another looks
at such a rare portrait? as a crowded blender as ice melting as boiling water
evaporating; those years so gentle our divide so venomous while we hate such
breath the nostrils of others. but sugar anguish, untidy filth, while clean, or
none to adore!
