Empirical matter, or should I say frost bite. You are a kink in your laborious attempts at regression. I pity your narrow ears. They must only hear your stomach. I look down on your eyes, they must only see your reflection...
And when you think you are done, you are not. Rough sequences of cold and action will re instill a smaller half of you. Same waves of your old choices will either flush you to mountains or beat you to pulp. Quenched in your sweats you will either pass, or stay.
Pray swift, you will pass. Pray that balls of yarning flash beams twist rationality through the seas of your Space in Mind. Pray that your eyes will notice the beautifully imperfect world that is bubbling in breaths around you. Pray that you make it out all right
…From the bowels of the perversid memory glands, you are wading in the corrupted channels of waters and waste. Churning your limbers into splinters of yourself. You are lost in the transgression; stuck between two worlds. The on going normalities, versus the space where only photos peel back Time. You are nothing, so much as you are rock – you are a displaced molecule.
