Title

He spoke in shoveled tone. Twelve shaman utterances filtered through fleeting vessels in rhythmic notation. Its an equation that balances on the tyranny of the one year cycle. Its a systematic shelving of a prosperous life. A swelling turbine full of kinetic winds that fail to breach death. Its like dancing in a shadow of rains; A steel ship set sail against grains of sand; A windmill in a concrete box; A jumble of words that sound alright together.

Do you recognize the tone?

You wore the casual smile. You applied the grin when needed. A smirk? Sure. You failed to open even an eye to surprise.

You failed to aptly apply timely motion to necessity.

Who were you? Who are you? Why are you?
you'll place a cynical word over everything - if you'd allow yourself to.

You surmise that you folded your incandescence a long time ago. Or rather it was transported somewhere else - only to be harnessed when you and no one else would be aware. Where were you shot from the sky? How? When? Or does condition and method even reach a tally?

When are you going to upgrade..

Your dominant limbs are breaking - They are breaking.
Your molars are rotting - They will shift to decay.

What will you rush?

Your imaginary senses float with your real ones in this swell of primordial drink.

My god... do you feel that sonic expression - it pulses with the most vivid synaptic exposure.

Everything's beating - You're accounting for your interests.



She dropped a brow and with a sacred stare pushed, "Tell me all about your ruse."