Monthly Archives: January 2014

I cannot fake it anymore, and I try repositioning, but she is not here, and I came for just a glimpse, yet the local maniacs persist with their trivial beauty, and I remember myself, but I felt estranged to her new lipstick hue, though I kept numbering the page, and lazy sermons bounce right off me, yet I hug lonely people whenever I get the chance, and I forfeit aberration to gather data from the enemy, but I embarrassed a team, while somehow acquiring membership involuntarily, and I grind away at this daily renegade list of appointments, but I warp into planetary destinations, and she kidnaps my dignity, while using fingers to alert previously latent narratives, and I rest, but I am not tired, yet I maintain these pleasantries.


I bark at the insulation of dullness, and I record voluntary obstructions, but I honor these calamities that suspend my peace indefinitely, and I think about the last fantasy ever dreamt, while I conquer my prior limitations here, on earth, yet she fosters a pleasurable coma, that I regret sometimes, and I tilt the aim of dedication, but I profess where the new colors might be found, and I run the other way, though algebraic exhibitions of behavior fortify these inert sensibilities, and I run low on juice, while I have faith in no unbroken thing, and I click my heels to get the snow off, but I want her to know my designs of our unattainable excursions into a forgotten periphery, and I sustain a readiness, but I lend out my fit capacity at will, yet I can regenerate, for now, and I assert the decoying effectiveness of virtual hobbies, but I go for walks regularly, which I use in theories of causation, and I scour the land for edgy demeanors, that keep their course nevertheless, and I rotate the playlist to keep this dance alive.

I race against my ill prepared ego, but she gasps for oxygen when the vehicle begins to roll, and I underline fictions in no particular order, but I wage peace on the violent self-help campaigns, and I look up to youth, though I horde colorless trinkets, but I sketch her impossible geometry in my mind, as this vial of liquor is quiet and already broken, yet I frustrate efforts toward curing those problematics, while I slam into the drastic awe that cannot be hidden, and radiates from every single moment of this extreme banality, yet I am lonely, and I believe the episodes of deceptive recuperation should be undone, because I care about my genetic team and its powerful future, although I do get seduced by monstrous idols with a sloppy tinge for enforcing new quotations of this crazed theater, and I learned justification too well, but I am nostalgic for when prayer was a feasible option.