Like a reckless leprechaun, the soulprint, unplugging the
skies. Sadness the terrible feeling, needing seasonal healing, some seconds are
titillating. Reaching for closure, distressed and dejected, honesty makes the
picture sentimental. It’s a carnival, the cries, the sober clowns, many bizarre
feelings. A pensive paradox, radical satire, accidental self-escape. The den is
tense. The lion is panting. Most souls are listening. Dreaming as spirits, wars
and passion, the forest has wailed injustice. Unbolted. Chimney soot. A lucky
clove. Wiggling through comforts, to cherish unbeknownst to me, laughter, most
troubled and innocent. To love until death, mourning the soul, chess is a shame
box. Astounded at feelings, to find a dance, many terrible wins. At an anxious
apex, wiggling away from an apple, ridiculed for differences. Mushing
purpleness. Mixing grapes and tangerines. Learning to function despite the sad
essence.
