Bridging the gap, Leading the rouse, Affliction of cause. Impending doom. Cloudy insemination. Claustrophobic decision. Broad fermentation. Ground hog day.
I find solace in the reptitude of procedural inference all encompassing dyslexic anagrams of a multitude of obsceneties it ties itself back to where it began. I find this all too enriching and fulfilling to fail. Entirely on itself, I am still here.
It turns cold when the sun sets and we are able to say it is a better way for us to live. Bare feet running against the concrete. Loud noises about town. It surfaces and leaves us barren. Who took us there. Emotions it seems run parallel to the glass ceiling. Before it breaks we rule out all options and strive for normalcy amongst each other. Care to explain the pact you made with those at the bath house. It is a scent of will to task us to lift the youth by natural standards. It is a source of sour tastes and loud eyes that are rulers that gesture to the cow fields. We stalk them to greater heights.
