At what point to decide on profanity?
Rhythm of a monster, cadence of a dragon, and I’d never trade it in; much
identity in the suffering, much more in survival, knowing one sees into the
torture, the design, to have died in my words. Fretting energy—by its presence,
if to decipher between realities … surefire affected, something inside moving,
touching, and traipsing as it does. To suggest nothing matters, too crazed, in
a trance, so pulled, tugged left and right, up and down. I can’t mean what I utter;
it can’t be real; it must be some ploy, some misery—the opposite of what mind’s
expect: a terrible man, a fragrant pain, some natural problem; and I agree, so
pulled into darkness, so yanked by light, have we read the proclamation?
Nothing matters—everything is an issue, the way we enter a person’s energy
field; like vampires and werewolves, like love and pain, too distressed to
fathom.
