true
imperfection so fair by standards or sore beauty. to die by morals to harbor
anxieties where a writer makes discoveries. if but a muse perused in anguish
where a person desires you; those skates those boards those rubber feelings. so
elastic—no one worries, where reality is infused by its emotion. such noetic
creatures fretted by afflatus where most are in its moment! the pain of the
gardener, or those anguished skies, while deserts are craving juice or water or
seeds afforded a lonely camel. the eye of the wall those assertions made where
they were often ignored. I have unlocked a gift such susurrous beginnings into
some reservoir where Love has her glasses; by fangs or exercises where most
vampires are loved. by shade or article while flipping pages; our interior
magazine, our dreaded brochures, while circling a list of agendas. beauty by
essence, or riches by beauty, where beauty remains unclear; so much to design
it, or too much to preserve it, or such importance to augment our variables: a
man to his souls, a woman to her spirits, while many people are in needs for
something more. I have loved by sight those fair beauties while uncertain of
anything else. this denotes something, sure instability, where many say, “It
can be worked out.” a child watches, those internet faces, such a child runs to
her mirror.
it has been fantasy something
ill-understood, while it gives life; so hard on reality, such reason to
re-manage, while it creates beauty. how close to reality? is this healthy? is
there room to mix perceptions? as cursed or roving, as bland or profound, while
it seems unnerving. the behavior of excellence. so bound by personality. or
cured by alienation.
