I wrote this piece months ago. They were just my thoughts on a daily basis.
I ponder yonder and yonder, but it’s always a squander. My mind continues to be enveloped in this chasm of sweet-nothings from The Lady in Black herself. Letting her intertwine her fingers in mine as she pulls me in for one simple, seductive kiss seems quixotic. Henceforth deriving me from any pleasures of life; leaving my vim nimble and brittle. Nimble enough to let the days pass, agonizing and dreadful, but they pass. Brittle enough to withstand all the tragedies that come about.
Only an oblique slither keeps my router busy. It was once vertical, embodying an oblique record. Soon my brittle vim shall shatter. Leaving nothing but a cluster strewn horizontally.
My router destined for downfall has one benign, ambiguous proxy. I call the tainted proxy Leilani; a heavenly flower.
The Leilani indulged my systems with an exhilarating vigor. Indispensable data was transferred from Leilani to my server, leaving it throbbing for more and more… But then, less and less… Soon phasing into a superfluous parasite after the climax was peaked. Superfluous but imperative. An oxymoron encoded with a simple enigma: superfluous to the router, for it knows the Leilani will ever-so reside in its’ own glamorous crevasse. Given that the Leilani needs the routers fountain of youth to thrive and sprout, the router pummels the heavenly flower down to the hell of insignificance. “Superfluous” is what Leilani becomes to the router now that its’ presence in the crevasse is duly noted. With the same thrust of momentum, the Leilani is a trove for the router to boast upon; turning it into a malevolent hubris. Thereafter, Leilani makes itself imperative to the routers survival.
Drop that^ like it’s hot and take a wrong turn into my assembly of joints, bones, muscles, and tendons. All making the solidified mush, referred to as “arms.” Push and shove your way through the throng of heifers until you breach my doors and barge into my arms.
Sometimes you’re taking a shower. Suddenly you find yourself grasping at the water spurting out at you. The back of your hands are faced towards you. Now, staring at the back of your hands whilst water trickles down them, you pivot them palm-up and clench the water in your fists. Once your hands are out of the water stream, you open them up just to find deception. Only slithers of water remain on your hands. The sullen reality is that nobody will ever obtain a handful of water.
“Us” people, who emerge from a metaphysical haven filled with marvels.
It WILL happen. We WILL obtain a handful of water. It’s all up to you. It’s up to me.
When surfacing into reality from the metaphysical sea, it is germane of one to spawn inconveivable scions into reality. Life, may have you looking down with a frown, but, metaphysics gently lifts your chin for you to look forward with a sensual smirk that assures triumph. Once you gain your wits, you’re ready to smother life’s face and mold it to your liking.
With that stated, we move on to owning life. Now we stand in the shower, grasping at the spurting water.
Stop grasping for the exhilarating traits of life. Let them fall upon you instead. Hereafter, just open your arms wider than your wingspan and let the water bathe your grasp. Close your eyes. Ponder. Yonder and yonder. It’s no longer a squander…
Given the moment that your eyes rise open, she’s there; Leilani. Now, hold her like you love like you love her. A heavenly flower in the figure of a lovely damsel, made by the water’s silhouette. The router’s ambiguous proxy is now deciphered into one, asinine lexeme; frailty.
She is the oblique slither of hope I have left. She is the balance to my justice scales. In her palm resides the absolute power to either turn my oblique hope horizontal or vertical. Her goal is to get me vertical once-over. My goal is to evanesce into a horizontal state. Therefor, there is a vehement clash of foresights. Her foresight is to plow me vertical and zealous, but mine is to go horizontal and apathetic towards life.
Prelude to the fact that I will one day be expelled from life.
She is my frailty. She is my love. She is my heart donor. She knew my heart was too shattered to be in any relationship, so she gave me hers in order to keep me alive and vigorous for her to indulge in. I strive, in vain, to make her fall away from me. Her foresight consists of me. My foresight? I have none. So:
“Runaway from me baby, just runaway. Runaway from me baby! Run away. It’s about to get crazy, just runaway… Baby I got a plan; runaway as fast as you can.”
Just let me go…