something is a light matter, a person’s mental sphere, when accusations are drawn. we believe in disbelief. a person wouldn’t do that. until it seems we bring accusations. permit a look into a woman’s eyes such sundew vaper falling upon concrete. a mélange of feelings or ecstasies as creative dismissal, it isn’t relevant! by sunshine evidence to avert our senses while one says, “Just lie to yourself.” but so much as lost such pain in clocks where anyone is something fairer. the drosera petals those zinnia foretellers or jamesias laughing in anguish. so deceitful to senses if but to disbelieve where others are curious; for it’s more than rumors it’s a face speaking, it giggles over causing division. a person can’t whistle a person can’t eat some sweet justice as its qualification. or a gaslight situation, to bend a person, where one dis-armors their sanity.
such
odic vacillation or pure contradiction to love as if nothing has changed.
our idyllic balls our rolling senses while so demeaned by our reality; such bedded understanding such giving where it aches or uncursed but falling. by math of dimensions or metal to cotton where hickory may draw a scream. so inside of us so outside of life so estranged from our sensories; by freedom to collapse by ropes to hang where a person remains steadfast; as if he hates self, or needs pain, while Covid-19 means, I love to much to escape.
shod
in uneasiness. it’s difficult inside. a person might become complacent.
those skies those days where beauty seems so infected; as a tyrant by freedom where we need freedom while nothing might manumit the soul.
