A Bite Of Elegance.

When an equivocal mind is fed ambivalence off silver spoons, the inevitable death from starvation will arrive. For I will never taste the conclusions of my own vulgarization. Ambiguity is no nourishment to satisfy my soul; Though being consumed is quite finger-licking. I’m chewing on my own becoming. Will I have the right to be fastidious about my growth? If dipping myself in gold would be more palatable to the one’s surrounding the table only I sit upon? Another round of silver contemplation and napkins please.

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souletry

18 / F

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