I cringe the blues like a nightmare so automatic with solutions. another cage so abandoned with too much love—for essence for flogging with anxiety at its peak. I depend on you. I waffle over you. I degrade myself. upon a cave looking primitive as if shaving is a crime. I was so taken or too many fumes with an inability to see closely. so many agendas such disorder, it felt like love. too unsteady or too nonchalant or “serene detachment.” something existential, most philosophers are chasing, a grip to slip passed humanity. a bit cold a bit icy while a bit afraid—in attics typing in basements praying we invest so much in metaphysics—like designed to worship while a solution is close, but rather, it doesn’t fit—for we need our ways we outthink our motives it must happen according to plan. a buffoon at times so warm for feelings while many are favoring science. it’s just a need. it’s just gratification. or we cleave according to stature and status.
I didn’t
make perfection. a man tries for oxygen. so punctured—it changed his entire
life. we seem to keep moving we have emotion we can’t figure why she’s angry—to
a deafening point, where tears burst forward, while she can’t say. a mystery in
a jar, a bottle just popped open, a fret of losing another friend.
like a thief one appears such oily language it started millions of years ago. to need to hear liquid as needing to feel related to, at a situation so familiar. but a hankering a desire where it’s immediate. a fire in a dungeon a ceiling in skies or a tree in memories. such a catalyst so anti-rectitude but it feels terrific—to hear such words to feel engulfed to fret such pressure. so skeptic it seems impossible but the Legos seem to build something: a fortress a paradise while hearing is as good as tasting.
so privileged so it couldn’t be while deception doesn’t depend on culture. so withdrawn as time took something where experience says illusions. but upon a rainbow lost in atmosphere, it feels so damn good. running to it as enlove with it such a face made of marbles—a museum voice an amazing warmth such as it must be illegal.
such abandon her soul in chains as alive in iron. to sip a brew or energize a sudden feeling as it revs higher into an orbit such cubes such fancy as needing to depend on essence. aside emotion lives an imp aside feelings lives a leprechaun or deep inside, into a large space, lives a mischief sphinx. so calm about it, such struggle with it, while goodness, a good soul, is rather earned than adopted. an ounce of waiting a gallon of spirits while fretting mind marionettes—looking for convergence as something altering ambition instead of a fleeting experience. too adored to settle so many years at practice, to awaken one day, like miracles aren’t earned. a deep routine such raw inability while praying for someone determined; a pint of ice cream a bag of cookies, it gets that way at critical junctures. it went so wrong. as been here before. while it’s become normal.
we know much about human nature. we blame others for our actions. while is was there, it just needed a jingle, despite circumstances.
we
say for goodness in an abstract universe where people are immediate
gratification. too many problems to locate life or too many complaints to
maintain a family or too much sacrifice, ignoring, or camouflage.
