there have been sureties
not been able to suffer from avoidance;
contiguity and octave that when our hands compose
they become
a cistern prognosis that are
visibly shut
in there own organs waiting for
an unborn character to synchronize to an
upset weakness, and a
faltered selfish flavor that jolts into
a superstition of someones apathetic
disposition - "he's only in your mind"

- G