the golden cotton of caramal lust muddles the eyesthirsty for ripeness and fulfillementwe seize the time for the siestas or the toilsome in half-baked somnambulismsome loving the warm green of freckled tree fleshmosaic of star and planet Oh God I love the heat days…
pickles, tok of mango stuffcrust like shapes green and organgeleaf and firestuns the tonguethe effect like two drivesone of childhood and other of misfit days
a pinch of abyss in a voidis like a concentrated shape of a bubble| an empty placefeathered by a gibberish in a environ of ennui and ample boredom
fixated on the winey-bileare crooked limbs typing crooked liesall the time finding faultswith people who only adhere to simple beliefs there are people put on the tableminimized, atomized, radicalized, compromiseddebtors, creditors, bankers, lawyersall these money-can-bring-happiness-like professionsor people who use that philosophy for their practiceare…
Iamisolated.I amkindofanoutcast…yousee methen don’tlikemeltingice. Are we a society of outcasts or an outcasted society?We love variety but we suck at maintaining good old ordersfunny, how we label only to demonize and let free actual criminalsat times I feel we live in a jester’s courtfor…
my mind craves adventureits been calloused by too much comfortseeing the doozy dumpling of sunand the marble effects of the moonare but synthetic trophies to my visionI can eat them by sight yet when I affix broader networksI get elated because there in that…
bonds of gossamers are like constellationswaiting to be watched under scopes or naked eyeswith a study of aesthetics than mere classificationshoping that God’s Creations will be loved — I opened up the door of a basementit looked akin to the atticI guess this is…
