I know wild leaves, raindrop petals, reborn at several steps. It was easy for some—I felt a complex; to feed soil to a garden.
I can’t for understanding, some things are stripped of gold, smelted, roaming blackdamp.
The price life would cost—a simple smile, to approach it like a skeptic; days alone in contemplation, a sorrowful kiss, two nurturing each other’s sins.
I was sick for a certain rose, I forgot humans have odors, with rain pouring into deserts; a flood in essence, a locust for breakfast, a soul threshed asunder.
I see a deep secret, despite rationalization, many are fishing: different dimensions, elevated dominions, or pure sickness.
Something simple becomes complex, to have loved Christ, to see beyond repair, to select, as opposed to something made mirrors.
It was never for us, it was for freedom, even freedom has found an adversary.
To measure infinity, to have experience, to realize in it, a certain causality, something cavalier, something many never reach.
One spoke of a kiss.
