Given to one reason, global intoxication. Soldiers of love. Warriors of the forgotten.
Pulling knives out, furious & outspoken. One final prayer; one trillion lies. Such irregular webbing. To have adored legacy, a diary of beginnings, it never ends well.
Trying to inhale, if but to exhale. So much wind, a space in hearts, voltage shot into orbits. So bellicose at points. To remain precious. More than once could imagine. Totally flat perspectives, made animation, framed by contradiction. To have loved a mistake, to have promised luxury, so uncured, so affected, the future is wrapped in wires. A soul knuckled down, wrote his composure left, thrown into a fury.
Bless us, Father, through the blasphemy, tucked into angelic fiber. The last understanding, it seemed so clear, this is doubt. Made tired. Life as paradox. If to become an outcast, an iconoclast, totally untrained at points. If to believe in existence, upon an existential, so fierce, so nervous, battling for due rites.
