A Pause

The end in itself is in the enough silence streak.
Filling coloured designs with a cold, shimmering living does not perpetuate with salivas Alone. You would have to elongate then expand yourself with beginnings.

The shout in
It is the string, the strength with which you may have struggled your flow all this time.
Cars care for salivas and this language to bear all the unclear glass crass upon will
Become toward our end silent attachments of the spirits' walk.

It is when you sell your way of reaching and tapping the cold long break
That you can appear ghostly and warm despite the falls of octagons' whirl and its song

That lights within souls and grass ferris.

It is the dadaist that dies. It not alone reaps and contrasts streams but plays on set every time something queues it and tunes it well in consonance of trains' tutorial breakages.
It happened before your very eyes.

Attract lies like how you attact sticks and laces of flowers punched out through your Abdomen. Abduct these walls, trace patterns and never ask how it can be forgotten. Downtown pays tribute to everything she asks that dusk cant bear alone. She says she thinks the way you do. But your chest darkens and rots in hell.

That lies attract each other is abduction.

Meet me at point x as though you have had captured throughout your life the missing y
And had tried making its sense in considering the succession of unceasing points as your
Points of what's unstoppable, within which you collide with the pause they reach
But cannot at any chance wish to crack and be at ease deciphered.