Ultimate revenge—souls bleeding,
gothic silence; eating eggplants, fiending for spirits, a palm of symbolic sugar.
Pondering Mulberry. Too simplistic. A soul so dangerous, so deadly, a man just
ponders over loyalty—the sharpened iron, the knife through skies, the wire,
treaded, walked, laughed and buried. Eerie chills. Invisible intelligence. Beatific
sunrise—so magnetic, the sleep of the giants, every man has a weakness; trying
to plug each hole, trying to become impervious, at some exit, most unsteady,
looking with eyes open, like a navy seal. Mesmeric walkways, paths into the
regions, the forest is filled with animosities; in some perfect, risk-free
world, nothing most enticing. The mind is a gristmill, a sawmill, genetic
disclosure; sudden into a maze, fleeing his mind, at her essence: so skilled,
it wouldn’t be reality, so laced, walking out of self.
