the temperament
desires ecstasy. the rage cries for forgiveness. such ways to us, such moods as
dancing or curious or fever. so afraid of us so aloof to problems where it
seems wide spread. too open as looking while so closed by a response. we need
consumption or bright teal passion where reality is metamorphosis. it was
running in us it was detected in us while we can’t get any nearer to us. so
stagnant so blighted or radical a second seduced by graces; the mountain sky
those green hills as to walk too many miles; secluded in nature listening to
grackles or nightfall nightingales. by phoenix in us by razing decimation where
we never feel as we once did. by aeipathy so dire for us as the best in our
delirium; or dark sadness so rough it aches, nobody sees. so stripped inside
our bolts manufactured our monsters asking forgiveness—to drift into silence as
such mood swings where it’s hard to find solace. a man in his aftermath or a
daughter in her legends with a mother in her excellence. such ratified anguish
such unverifiable agonies or a feeling lacking its roots; if but to dig further
if but to be arranged while a man mustn’t show his energies; “So frightened of
you, so much that reality, as where has a man been?” the unabused self to sing
in solitude, for it fairs better if no one ever sees you. so gray. they can’t
fathom. it seems good but it’s different. how is it possible such fuel or fury
while we don’t want to see such? as a soul destined or they see it coming while
it was a laundry list of loses.
to see why it hurts or to realize why some shun us
where affection is seldom. or one to love us to adore us while we might be a bit
consumed. or pointing to travesty more than beauty while one is fretting more
damages. so much predicament or happenstance while winnowing our essence; so
rescheduled, any response becomes the wrong response. as never realizing our
interior desires, as to mention it’s a gray reality.
so pulled the shadow is grinning the smile is a ghost.
so undeveloped so circumcised of heart, so restructured while now it bothers me—the
aura the deception the intrusiveness. sure conscienceness in consciousness
those banisters those patios those balconies—as a soul would look or a soul
would see while expecting the best in self; to carry leviathan to feel like a
monster while anti-violence. so tender in a second as to imagine aesthetics
while so restrained by probability; our human behavior our human quirks where anxieties
are at forefront. as pioneers for study as abstract/different creatures so
tugged so dissolved or disheveled socially. as split souls such raw regards
while most just need participation; as some go into those spaces so able to
give fully while most are not going into those tunnels. so much a vacuum while
perceived incorrectly where others need to protect self. our behaviors for
importance our craving for justice our honesty seeming hostile. to look for so
long to see for so long while playing a game of dice; as an uncomfortable
entity or some remote island while depth displaces adult simplicity.
I feel it falling. it dresses in black gems. it removes
its first essence. so much those ghosts so hectic afire where one would speak
indifference; for one needs, or one has blues, so restored if one falls. so
many building blocks while needing to extol one while greatly by
disappointment.
