Acting, as...If I
Dear God,
Obscene cretin of oblivion, if you could see us now... I hate the loss You allow that traverses the constellation of humanity's Mother Earth to Father Time's plotted course through a requiem ode to love, long lost and dead!
All art in heaven, may the sketch of a promise be a sonnet's constellation woven as a nebula of weight relieved as the mechanism of nurture meant to imprison the bones of humanity gives way to compassion infused virtue, this is nature.
Vagabond derelict of my own imagination, a requiem of the worst next moment possible a constant thought, provoking a process of a cursed confidence, set on cryostasus against an aimless self vengeance forever lost within the conduit of an internal self decrepit saga monologue gone rogue, breaking down any threat of courage.
777 Triple Origin(s)
In earnest anticipation of,
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