I plague my honor with adverts for immunity, and I gawk in disbelief when she morphs out of legitimate reason, but I hurry to exclaim some proof of knowingness before the internal censoring motor fires up, and I launch a nostalgic trance onto myself like a childish blanky, though I speak in acceptable passwords, and I feel extensive cracking below their lackadaisical ground, yet I question her into another sophisticated frenzy.
I chip away the outer shell, with numbing fingers, that respect genuine poeticism, and I edit her image, using hypochondriac stylization, but I keep adhering to machine leadership, though I wanted just feeble amounts of control, as I prepare the rules of how she might lie down, while succumbing to overtly beautified angst, yet I reinforce irritation, and I don’t understand the embarrassment in your voice, though I complement appropriately, while I defer to utopian potential, but I lament forgotten godliness, as I am turning a knob for the infinite revolutions.
I go no further than relativity, and I’m circulated within archaic decision making patterns, yet I recycle my ego again, but I treasure newly built stages for her, while I endure chronic gasps from the imaginary, and I wait for opportunities to disappear, though I maintain a needed consistency to ensure pyramid ascension, but I might have laundered away signals for perplexity, though I find death every minute, and I revisit another unlabeled trance where she enacts the musicality of nowhere, yet I commend health.
I juggle storytelling devices, to be nutritious for an anti-heroic mood, and I’ve lost count of the ways she flashes me, but I tenderize illusory entitlement, while I persist into the next version, and I map her disruptive abilities, though I understand concern for general melancholy, and I honor blemishes with respect, as I usurp your petty groping of comformative adornments, yet I just want fundamental evolution, but I’m not suffering in loneliness.
I almost feel the humidity pass through our borders, yet I cringe at dysfunctional theatrics used like mafia, and I ease into her command, while I list steps along the way, but I predate the will’s inevitable ghostly flag, though I stare at backlit digits, and I admire the occupied neither, yet I like when she repetitively extinguishes my lecturing head, while I attempt to deal with a pale cue from this gnarly muse, and I considered bribing nihilism, though I deter an ivory sentiment, while I have new unification, but I practice adapting to worries, and I don’t let homelessness be a focal metaphor.
I bury cerebral polka dots, and I thrive in most new restrictive schematics, yet I wish earnestly, that she invents her own kind of freedom, and I vacate my lungs during turbulence, but I cannot really accept peace, while I recognize this squirrelly depth everywhere, and I log babble, rounded to the most neutral aphorism, into an electronic shelter mirage, yet I feel these old chains loosening up.
I prefer a gentle, seemingly faded color on her lips, and I interrupt the verse with my brittle encoded desires, yet I am continually treating inverted allergic reactions with ethical sign posts, and I geographically whimper less now, yet I formulate differences, as I pretend she is browsing an identical catalog of animosity, but I watch my subconscious like a freezing riptide, and I ask to be numbered correctly, yet I trivialize glorification, while I employ her unique proportions to determine the contents of a manuscript.