It was innocent, as supposed, so tired of monotony, losing parts, inclined to see repetition; the life as it sings, the pressure as it seduces a man, a woman, so fed up. Something new. Something interesting. To impose upon wilderness, to rethink monks, to circle through melodies. The cure for the curse; so delicate; do self a huge favor: learn to love. I’d dance with us, a surly capture, a knitted caricature, standing like a pantomime, whistling afar, throwing voice, unthought of, until a second glance.
It was neat to perish; it was hellish to resurrect; after many years, those intrusions, to awaken needing something intimate.
I thought about it, lies inverted, it becomes too realistic, too much of existence, with devastation traipsing the Great Demon. So decent in there; so cursed out here; most see goodness, most pass it over.
An unspoken man is a dying instrument; while a spoken man is misunderstood.
We hold to hermetic rites. It was unique when she appeared.
It was anxiety those months.
As intended: one will work harder.
So many selections, to have a choice, so pulled the bleeding ruptures. I never said anything; never spoke the underground activity.
And Love is fierce, those with atmosphere, women with strength.
