When lights become liquids, a child was born. Stressed out, until it matters more. A slight disturbance, and bouncing back, before another ruse. Any soul trying to make it, will face walls. Appetites grow. I never seen her before. Some strangeness there. A form, most formless, when time grows legs. So aesthetic! A soul calls to itself. Trying to carve an ore—whose to blame? Wanting to gaze forevermore.
If to lose all senses, to desire with intensity, upon a first glance—the kaleidoscope souls’ passion.
It’s a shame, never steady. It’s sheer pain, ever a charging. Never a sight. As ever a sight. Dreams are killing us.
Too tamed for many, what have they to offer?
It stirred something dormant.
Beneath veneer, removed curtains, to face a demon, to haunt an angel.
When tales are told, we speak of such souls, we never say what we’re lusting after.
