if Love shows indecision, it’s a
part that loves me; if Love is absolute against me, i will know in reception.
hearts are abandoned to love. they shower in affection—made content is
relaxation. souls have personas. spirits are indignant. minds are indecisive.
brains forge bridges. i confess to loving in some capacity. i deny
the denial, getting lost in principalities, i return to losing myself. so
affixed. the purpose is the phenomenon. the motive is immortality. the job is
either done, or never complete. so close to nihilism. the agony is the river.
so anti-nihilism, barely holding form, trying to refute existentialism: a hard
feat!
so many ideals, nemesias in bloom,
casual frustration—the tower has fallen, we seek unison, the skies have denied
human endeavor.
when Love is beautiful, i am ugly,
if to pinpoint the irresistibility.
either mother’s rage, or father’s
infidelity, or forgiveness becoming religious in tone. the tinkering of the
flame, as it flickers, with anguish being in the love. by ravishing spirit, body became
susceptible, where logic is unrelenting.
