Brisk air can soothe you
Because warmth isn't enough to
Entertain your lungs

What a strange feeling
Treading across the Taj Mahal
Floor as it look back at me

I.
Swinging blonde hair goes
Out onto the balcony,
A tangible breeze

II.
Beige coat swaying to
Get home late, never mind a
Lecture.  She's a youth.

III.
Red lips bleeding more,
Orange dripping down her shirt,
Almond eyes who give,

IV.
Sprouted white skies are
Where she gets those thighs, giving
A prolonged heart  'til...



End

Air crushes ice crush--
--ing people, stabbing careless
Thoughts building madness

To take an image
Cut it open, step into
A pretty coven

Here is a face for
You, Mystery Man, colleague,
Strawberry farmer

Guidelines:
1. Free-association must be preceded with the phrase, “I love you.”
2. Furthermore, approach writing with passion. Note: do not approach aggressively.
3. Continue until physically unable.

                                             **Recite the following:
        I, Aula Tullius Sulla, will never forget how I felt writing this. I do solemnly swear, for once and for real, to fully appreciate every word. I will think of the tear shed before and after “letting it out” whenever I am obligated to “let it out”.
     I will never be a plumber or an entrepreneur nor anything else “more stable” than writing, because living a comfortable life does not cure my unstable heart. I recognize the monster painted white and covered with straight lines has no authority.
       All senses are hereby owned by the heart, which retains authority over the mind. I promise to work in close collaboration with both. The following piece of literature is mine, all rights reserved, and will not be touched without permission. I recognize that giving permission may result in excess exposure, failure, or fame. All works constitute as chaotic beauty, but consequential wounds may be mended regardless.
    [Repeat x 100] I love to write.