such
vintage-voltage a glass of coffee or so far in-between. it dies for us it lives
for passion it’s deep intelligence. such a building by a bulwark while you
might rebel. (if to find it outstanding. if to defeat trivia. where souls wrap
in communion!) I was seeing in you a part of sadness while I collapsed to
sorrow; those bent armors those train-tracks in such a failed story. something
would perish, eyes might water, where I need more to protect; such strength, as
to become independent, a round so cursed; as back to a square, asking for
sympathy, while a man is meant to forgive—as born leaders such a fairer reality
as elaborate in his tension. (I would see you as a connection while we never
speak. I would feel you as churning flame or someone digging for tortured. but
never as his soul his mistake his differentiated woman!) it becomes terrific so
close a neighbor while it felt such grace to trespass—thus, a soul, so
battered, while it was terror to frustrate; to abuse to leave evidence, where I
would un-phantom such terrifying loyalty: such a mistake in our packages such
reason to cleave, while it’s always this because of that! it’s rare a
white mustang or intentionality, where it’s better to leave a man mad, guilty,
or feeling pure infraction. but beauty that way, as never so horrifying, if but
one, I’d die such closure! a dream-ink-sawdust a measure like a scale or a
fever like dear disaster. (or to see, sense, or relate to a broken channel.)
—but a scream such
wailing as never so correct; for fire was tasty such a scent so debated while I
fret such complete absorption—where vintage music is unorthodox, or trauma is
syrup, or I release the scream!
