It’s a low mood, a tender quake mood, lawn passion picnics. It was over in essence, blues of a maddening mind, glad to have met, nonetheless. If it hurts to watch, it hurts to read, a head to a shoulder—sweet magnificence, treasured curiosity, or tragic vendetta. Late at night, it was us, so ironic the communication. A needy soul, as I beg for clearance, a lonely soul, as we keep company. Indeed, technique trespass, a man shouldn’t be believed, still to carry furniture, to lunge into traffic, craving a cigar; heads low these days, deeper exhaustion, or polite chastisement. Softer music, hourglass measurements, something taunting, something aching, something pledging to the good in souls. Indeed, never trust a spirit, if such a soul has caused discomfort—it makes things easier. Tomorrow has feelings unwrapped, today has sadness, the past possesses a bundle of metaphysics. It’s not meant for a tear, it is because it sings, it speaks to truths, ever the liar in me. A kid played on train tracks, kicked rocks, prayed for new beginnings. Stray animals, particularly canines, just to interrupt a particular feeling. It was never as it seemed, so impetuous, such a pain in its shivers. Forever to remember. Forever to sky domes. Forever to a hear in memory as it passes. Magenta thoughts, along a whisper, feuding with self over forgiveness, needing something as it remains unspoken to itself. Those times it pained to live, those days it joyed to live, those times it churned in silence.
