Death is a sonnet, Viable sunrise in heaven net Of lyrics and pain, Alas no rhyme is a torment, Yet we strike ourselves with a soul stain.. Charcoal dot on a fingerprint route, Towards love and bliss, We cut our root , From any senses... For now only we are dead, Is it a sparkle? Where's my head? Someone's hit casual darkroom, Alas, dark matter is finally fed.

Love invention of a dun floating, is a sky space in barrels of rim. Last night toes have defeated fingers; consumption of fair manners. Darling is a reminiscence. Dreamt of cups filled up, with Love..

Pupating visible snowflakes I burst into your underskin, with pain in arms, I bleed through the vains of aftermidnight cigarette smoke, to choke on syllables you imprisoned, in my tounge; I am pupating.

It snows lucidity, prism feeling of an open wounded soul, grip of a sacred snowball that hits you sharply, falling, misfit of a virtue longing, through you, through the mundane ground, through the clown's tears...

Raindrop leaf, nightmare rim, alluding insomnia of crayon tin. Give inner sin to skin implied film. Climb. Reach the pit of crayon tin and make sure you don't hurt yourself by perversion steam. It's a relative sting of a pain swim.

Purification scavenging lump of a Dead end sea, Ocean is sleeping down there, Wearing sand wings pollen has caged spark, One synchronised tilt of love, Broken finger wearing moss, Arvo of sunrise in Austria, Locomotive murmur ripping dance of a pointy finger and the sand, Sand has scrolled down to the end of a Dead end sea.

My tear is intensity of a spiderweb claws, transient in smell, fluid in touch, scrutinised in look my tear is a happiness nook,,