My most nightmarish nights, here. Darkest, most slimy, stubborn, large ditches, unfathomable depths, the impassable, impossible, as ever, all those. Everything is there.
In the hollow of a jaw too tight. "And if men love to forget is that happiness is painful." And we try again and again, we were not afraid they say, risk taking, savings lost, badly. Dirty kids? I try everything, forgetting once before, as always, that the whole can be entirely negative.
Everyone knows it hurts sometimes.
J'dirai not really think I'm burning tonight. Instead I Pleus, frankly, I Pleus as everything is blue lining.
they are, the worst. although the persistent biting anxiety. These nights there, where is with no one, where one is not quite alone. Worse, when the only person with whom one would be, is a veil of perfume prohibited. Because we are proud, of course. That is cowardly, especially. Perhaps there is nothing worse than calling for help and to see a hand stand down. Ego bruised, distorted beliefs, the beautiful armada of delivery in question.
Once more I put myself into touch, the finger too lucid, I knowingly edge contrast and unbearable. Party of course, without words to say, too top it's hard to sleep, too little confidence to defy the dark corner of a familiar room.
I cling to the screen, at the expense of modesty, of course.
It's too easy to say that in itself may be more, I would not like be another. We can do no more, period.
Longer facades, nestled in an mp3. Accelerating pace. Where to go, eh? Excuse, pass over there. Extirpate them, or quickly enough. Wait and fear at a time.
The man who sleeps?
Exclusion, they said.
In the hollow of a jaw too tight. "And if men love to forget is that happiness is painful." And we try again and again, we were not afraid they say, risk taking, savings lost, badly. Dirty kids? I try everything, forgetting once before, as always, that the whole can be entirely negative.
Everyone knows it hurts sometimes.
J'dirai not really think I'm burning tonight. Instead I Pleus, frankly, I Pleus as everything is blue lining.
they are, the worst. although the persistent biting anxiety. These nights there, where is with no one, where one is not quite alone. Worse, when the only person with whom one would be, is a veil of perfume prohibited. Because we are proud, of course. That is cowardly, especially. Perhaps there is nothing worse than calling for help and to see a hand stand down. Ego bruised, distorted beliefs, the beautiful armada of delivery in question.
Once more I put myself into touch, the finger too lucid, I knowingly edge contrast and unbearable. Party of course, without words to say, too top it's hard to sleep, too little confidence to defy the dark corner of a familiar room.
I cling to the screen, at the expense of modesty, of course.
It's too easy to say that in itself may be more, I would not like be another. We can do no more, period.
Longer facades, nestled in an mp3. Accelerating pace. Where to go, eh? Excuse, pass over there. Extirpate them, or quickly enough. Wait and fear at a time.
The man who sleeps?
Exclusion, they said.
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