To the
angel we sacrifice—the beams in born bones, to carry elite pain. Adrenaline
essence, the moon is a challenge, trying as we do to say something
extraordinary. A lady on a wire, or Phillipe upon high, so legendary the
sentence the thrill. An explosion inside, so threatened by romance, so
influenced to die at the gates. Love
has an entrance, so special what hurts, so enthralled in illusions. The exit
has a glitch, a mystery inside, a cavalier anxiety. Somewhat spicy. An excellent
expectation. Most in time are rearranging furniture. Such the old-fashioned
soul, the new aged eternal, a soul in my heart this angst. I’ve given spirit,
in touch with rain, like a fool, liking a problem—the fair blue skies, the
wizard interior, the file as it fills with anger. Most sanctified, interior
ultrasounds, many soundwaves, across the hurting soul. Giving more with passion; reluctant to volunteer for horrors; eager to love an entity; trying to fathom
the stars.
