[kahljorn]

All your life was a lie that's why your soul cries sick and blue torn ligaments renew the perturbed silence rotting, wholesome enquiries based on your perceptual grief.. perspectives eat your eyes like a diary fruit farming bush, you write your secrets down and nobody gives a damn except glaring fussilades of your own self terror. Crashing down upon y ourself like deep blue darkened seas, depressurizing the ampitated parts with bitter sorrow--filled with some chance of cordial happiness and gastric decay of space.