Open your arms and salute me to your solution.
I end things that are unavoidable. When I was sixteen I knew you’d leave me, back and forth.
When the heliographic metacosmic rhythms recalled me of you, no one stood a chance. I feel serenity in announcing that you will never not get me. These pulses have a name. I bet you’d depict my sentiment so crisp like crisps from the Ashores. I knew we’d visit that place. Black kitchen love garden. And the amount of drones and watermarks, failings of a reality we desperately avoid. On another note, all perfect places down there.
My diary says I’m free and so does my dictionary. Somewhere around 2007 a little devil burned a bible for YouTube to see. You said he made you this way but all he did you inspired it. Another ball and another biscuit. Never mind the countless hours we talked about who cares. Who cares. I don’t care. You cared, you silly boo.
When hypothesis meets adrenaline, a cathedral of green arrows begins to boil. You know nothing. All you did was be there and react accordingly. Insomma, t’avevo scelta e nun te n’eri accorta. You drained my eyes and left me feeling uselessly complete. God is carnage, and I wrote all the scripts.
