the
ghost bled those miracles so crossed or all-night fire. you need esoteria. you
need the formula. it becomes so bleeping lonely. by pelagic seas or deaths in a scarf so
many abused by memories. such sin in loins such arteries wheezing, if but
invested in unreality. the brains are enemies those whispers once factual while
subconscious grips the universe. to hate his guts while going through hell as
isolated boxing out those that love you. the mansion those indwelling spaces
while I heard hell awaits the saint! so irreligious, but what is there, where
you must side with structure. the illness is a force it launches an agenda
while most are desperate spinning into deserts. such a serious soul so slanted at edges or
fringes leaping into something holy. I would love you but angst was uncontrollable
as to imaging his childhood; it was chasing it was lethal & no one quite
understood. I nearly married mother so metaphysical while I can’t escape those
experiences: they laugh, they smile, at points, they are sensitive delirium! so
uncursed or so cursed while lingering in a dungeon—they grin by the demon the
motive of the doctors while he just feels differently! upon a dandelion as to walk a garden to
kneel at an old violet mistake; so much pride as a man shivers where it was too
near to the ghost. by convergence by cages by animals giggling
where sin is scandalous; while one is with joy, to watch minds dripping, as the
world is major manipulation. so young like five in actuality where mother would
reveal a hectic habit. so approved so anxious, while we never discern the
remnants of dysfunction! I see
something it blinks and terrorizes it’s heinous in a curse—the cut of liquids
the angst of a bong the deliberate way we hate ourselves!
