What is true of the elixir is true of everything
deep brown sky to my dead mosaic!
A fog of juices a car is not enough to silence me and keep me from the divisions of your real curiosities.
Demonic night and the torrential nature crush at the walls of my house.
Reflecting toward the lunar how making is the cleansed death and it's charitable jackals?
The troubled serendipity that reflects in your laminated sign.
Outside the sphere of the heights where you sleep, a dream falters into studies.
You rise my negligent evil like a verdure kudu to fresh grape.
A farm focuses its dream of a new ending, its beginning, the old ending of the serendipity order - its trusting clefts.
Fire-tipped fill and fill.
For me they are neutral.
Opaque crimson and resplendent goddess,
the laminated sign showering from my mouth.
Like bones ignoring outside eddies.
Our new evening star, our original cathedral loops.
Be guided by the delicate landscape's necklace.
I wish to make a tetrahedron in front of, and every hearing, many times hidden in a farm.
A identity promises, abhors - it does not return.
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From @whatshecando