so
darkened so apathetic too lethargic; or too sensitive so emotional where
reality is subjugated. it abides in its abode where rationality is dunglike.
such gunfire so benthic or near silence. as a misfit or a misnomer so unjustified.
by love those years, as never to comfort one, while I select plurality: our
opened agency, our limestone ages, if but to live like legends; those curses we
crave after those billiards to pass time. to have known you, to have sought balance,
but your lovemaking is unworldly—such chemistry so electric like fire or
brimstone. a touch of ecstasy so impure where it feels terrific; the taste of
language the presence of dying or fleeing for captured into a dungeon. to
plummet like violence such violet entities while I couldn’t keep pace; loosen
me or kill me but it aches too much; such wilderness or wiles into unfreedom
while a soul desires manumission—for roots are vital, even for hybrids, where
we often play pretend! I speak to self, so afar into academia, where color is
pivotal. the office of designs those ages as coarse while sickness says
something Wit disagrees with. (I’m catching visions, too alert to
probability, as if it takes a vacation.)
too close for clarity too much she
keeps talking in such a rush to relive ethics; the highway is dark, all to see
were lights, where winds were harsh. so concerned with innocence while we need
knowhow if but to ward-off the wolverines. so signed to you or assigned to
grief while touching baptizes those interior compartments.
