take it from the
soul,
as a mad creature, so infused by wilderness—those gray adversities, the
conspiracy theory, while to love me is correct thoughts. to favor me is akin to
captured beauty where anything else is fraudulent. (I wonder. I chime. I’m a
gut-ghost.) such raspberries over pudding while down soul is an agenda. so
cursed with it so dark with it such sweet light. I’d be lying, if or only if, I
claimed not to care. (Love is discontent. Love is perturbed. but Love is an
intellectual. so, what occurs when the mind clashes with everything it feels?
the passion of the lioness the rage of the jaguar the feud in the professor! or
psychs becoming stimulated, or psychs at evolved brains, while to touch a soul
too many stars afar? so distracted.
but it’s plain to see. I will speak to the title—and not the person! such a copout such a problem, but this
is nature! so mad with it, so affected inside. such a way to love a man! I was apt in aptitude or alive in mania
where Love was beauty in a cocoon—those manicured hands such an elongated neck
such reaching indifference. a man to
his morbid self while so elevated how will the judge decide? at the tribunal
with rain, so tucked in grain, where laughing is inappropriate; those miles in
stories those wraths in guts while Love became a ghost. to miss the face to
aggrandize the esoteric where one convergence is a mountain celebration. the
sheep are running the goats are gunning it becomes a battle to multiply! softer silk or social cues where only a
few are praised for cognition. to war or to play fair where fairness means one
must comply. I asked a question,
indeed, a tragic Abel, how does it feel to hate a person we must accept? Ah! my next of kin, as we spin out, so
deep at it, so trapped in it, so disgusted with a smile! those roses at his casket those screams in
thoughts or nightmares too sensitive to energies.
