Trepid milk trickles into the splendor of miracles. The tragic beauty in chaos blows out the secret of the bountiful world. Life is so crazy, it's insane, I find no reality in the skulls of any other human that is not full of bizarre events and blind faith. All I want is the dream of the mind, it is an illusion that focuses on a reigning secret and I know it.
The shaking junkie and the morose beauty, one below, one above in the windows, both in the same city. That is the way a street bends, it lays on a course in the womb, a carpet to lay on in the summer sun.
A rushed freedom of consciousness arrives within me, inside it feels as if haloed suns spin around crystallized planets , everything melds into one one stereo, a theme, I wish I could pertain a philanthropic state of the world arriving at a misdemeaning place on the street with no strings attached, it's a reigning shame to care so much all the time about everything. I still feel like I'm playing a game with the universe, this life was a wild card, anything can happen and the planets choose which way to go. Something strange is in the air , a lot of things occuring on their own accord.
There is perfection in imperfection I believe. A stunning revelation in the conduit of a masterpiece and her breath, I wonder how many times a human can collapse to find that the dance was spent along a worthless highway, under the highway in a list for more grime,garbage and pain. Everyone is going to know your name but is it worth the pain ?
Essence of a person expands out of life, christened by the belief that humanity has reached an ultimatum of itself, I believe the wind and the address on it and everything it stands for, who knows which collaboration meets a bounty, it's uncomprehending the expanse of beauty, I hold a purpose bent on my own will, I'm so selfish, karmically selfish on the brains of my own doing. I wish I could repeat on my life force and maybe be done with this whole thing on my own accord.
Camera stones salute to an alchemy of life, I wish to transcend the figure of a crown that was given to me, what part of the story relies on date and what part on echoing harmony of help ? I want to be an enigma, beyond help because it is unneeded, I have reached the circumference of the circle, made my dues, perfection in every day, stamped with the muses seal of hope. What's the next part of the story ? It falls apart completely in the help of it's own hand.
People crave for more mania made by many, a queen if ghosts and gods, I transcribe to no reason beyond the help of adoration, I make the planets weep with the suggestion of my disposal, I want to be disposed of humanity's pink bare naked ugliness, pursue finding freedom against the painted spilled walls of earth's cherubs.
