by spark into
evening an unseen, seeable creature. misidentified. miscalculated. a soul
remains faceless. deep rooted suggestion, sadness by sociality, human condition
by birth—into a cycle, unanticipated, struck suddenly—an axiom made aphorism whether
or not we participate. as unparticipating souls, undergoing a long journey,
internalized by discomfort. partly articulated, in a sense, it can’t be
articulated, with this being a failure in philosophy, while we capture a
kernel, nonetheless. something mizzles something functions, it’s happy in
state, but not in its actuality. brown tears, muddy palms, one feels akin to
sewage. requires intuition, if to impassion resistance, a soul remains
pictureless throughout existence. an extant feeling, despite familiarity,
requiring an inrush, some mystic ingredient.
pure irrigation, a
conduit of oppressing feelings, with a world pampering to indifference. sweet
flawless aggression, a universal element, one would discuss our natural predilection:
as perceived in self, a faultless face, a feeling made to suffer, but impassive
to suffering. a condition in souls, an anarchy in rationality, a feud in our
garden. pitted against humans, human, nonetheless, as one trying to escape
humanity.
a feeling
uncreated. latched to something geared towards insanity. smooth, thin linchpin.
our tender masquerade, masks were
inevitable, it’s deeper than oppression.
