The achromatic world blushes with toil, for what do I have to spoil, she asks? The mundane, the fitz of simplicity, the routine of grandeur. For this is the way, this is how it’s done, the tour of moments between rise and ground, palpitating in the unceasing spire of desire.
The world continues to blush as the lack of choice forces this unending situation. But, even the world gets bored, you see? For the world is me, and it’s never enough.
The world bites the apple, and the boast of smoke unfolds, the ultimate asphyxiation, where the future is birthed anew, and it was you. The polychrome lover that awakened all that was, all that is, the author of resplendence and delight.
The blushing world allowed the passing, and the situation found its multitude of aftermaths. The pink clouds unveiled, and the futility abounds. It was never so grand, never so amazing, and we were joined amid the path.
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