The words uttered too late, in a state of misshapen affection. Affection slowly staining the skin, causing a mild vision of devastation. Possessive reinforcements on a real bad cut. Trust, slowly disintegrating, no signs or fuss. A joyful rant of boastful apology, an endless falling of leaves off an invisible tree, uncanny imagery for something that has always been free. The delivering traits of pointy swords, hidden in case of uncertain wars. Prepared to dash into a powerhouse of hiatus, slipping in and out of hiatus, no prohibition but I sure can't find a drop. Leaving a glossy mess on the floor, slight rip in the brain - someone get a mop. Documenting documents that cannot sum of all of the flaws. Erasing the lights right off the wires, using those wires to reprogram all of the desire, dropping everything in the fire and watching everything sizzle under fast pace decisions... Fast. Pace. Decisions. Powerhouse. Hiatus. Hiatus.
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