if I
were a soul unbroken, what in names, does that feel like? spliced asunder,
loving spirit seen, like losing was glorious—the pain, the fury, the glue—if to
get it back, that old soul, so much discomfort! the same
2 stepping, an English omen, too much emphases on hips and ass; ruined as it
stands, tugging a sacrilegious ear, so irreverent, speaking on dice, affairs,
the glory of the deception—riding, galloping, horseback, finally arrived with a
soulless figure. such a lie—more soul than skies—a video camera of every wound—the
woundless, the absent, they can’t fathom—the banks the feelings the needs for
life: mania, and sin. look at me: air-dancing, shadow boxing, anything to
forget and play normal. much a decent soul, much an ethic spirit, her kids
adore her, the rest wrest to know her; so simplistic in the force, so battled
in the error, even superheroes become depressed—they show emotion, in a
motionless atmosphere, we learn to associate with likeness and soul, so much
raw ass gravel. too damn bad—the sorrow is
existence, going for pain that night, understood the loneliness, the fever, too
close for comfort, too far away, the need for contradiction, and wrath, so cozy,
such a cozen person. too hurt to bat an eye, too proud to feel privileged, too
gray to receive closure.
