Internal Vocals/Mental Memoirs

I’d perish love, this velvet blanket, so foreign your eyes. I’d rescue—this helium feeling, as to enter love; that cultic womb, a man to years, as enveloped in distance: our writhing shame, seeking repentance, as pulled, yanking silence; this space in moons, this lion of droves, our cheetahs abandoned. I’d venture loses, if but embrace, encased in acids; that sultry ribbon, that bodily masterpiece, our exchanges as pure lusts; where mothers warn, while sons chase, to feel something indifferent. We die forever, awaiting our graves, tipsy for falling into situations: that gray headed cat, afflux this terrible sin, as grinning to die Satan’s passage; whereto, this sinister deed, or this glorious infusion, this soul piercing this cultic nun; to die by rivers, exploding at sanctuaries, engrossed but trailing indifference; wherewith, are restraints, while repenting to priests, as eyes spread painting our destinies. I adored a cygnet, to find such loss, where time would ask of tutelage: that inner compass, by a man’s palms, our fingers elusive to dynamics. I curse for falling, involved in rituals, that sudden indelicate fire—thereto, a missive, as spirit cageyness, to find with essence this privileged disappearance: out cats clawing; our puppies whining; this faraway dream watching; but life is passion, our austere memoirs, our immortalized pass-tenses—while deeply predicated, this subject of nouns, our fires as adjectives; but stay awake, pillaging spirit-dungeons, at contemplation but mere a vehicle; as mother cringes, this colorless voice, while souls are a bit enchanted with youth. I’ve danced aloofness: I’ve chanced alligators: to come with time as moving relentlessly: as born eternal, peering at blood, while so enchanted by rejection; or earth his life, torn with psychologies, while delving deeper into nonchalance: this smart woman, as living immortally, at travesties to admit attraction. I’d die forever, to purchase by experience, this vest as caving into spheres: if but to live, or but to die, or but to extinguish that inadequate feeling: our moons as shady; our sun as mirrors upside down; or left to right this aesthetic masterpiece; to sing with wolves, as floored with liquor, while ever again pleading for clearance: this majestic force, as sharing with diamonds, while affected by green pastures; to love a minx, as becoming friends, aloof to our negative insecurities: this mystic forest, or our captive meadows, by arts this furious love-fest; where fathers muse, as mother cry, if but our siblings admeasuring worth.