colorcorrectionmaterialism

She can rest a world small enough, bear on every side of a corner
fester, and swell I can see for miles, and miles behind light, bright, and flick
off mechanically. The puddles contain great, spread beautifully in disorganization,
a surveyor, shoes tied to his ankles, map tattooed down his spine, and searches with no intention of discovery. A familiarly I’ve created into the fabric, and sought after like silver mines, rivers flowing, splitting the soil, cutting through the mountains and its identity imbued at the end when reaching a romantic and undeclared body. The button that self-corrects, the dissent I hope won, and ink coherent, spilling, eyes focusing, deluging and corrupting its understanding, its here, but mistaken.

She hears a music that self-tunes, and eminent the sound, dear, and wondrous deafness surrounds all objects around her, and places gather, hierarchies blend and mash, and can’t locate but instead detect everything else, hidden, lovely and solemnly, place against me and see the race, but I refuse, dragged, and beaten by fright. The skin bites, and evolution taken place, knuckle like an erection the body swift and standardized, two of every part, but isolation I shake the hairs off my arms, the fillings from my mouth, the pupils from my eyes, watch, and they will swim like fleets daring, tumble, and battle the waves. 

She forfeits my commands, Holy Scripture, the scholars retain delight through revalorization, false-prophets and audacious discussions, and the calamity; beware night, the guiding breeze, I feel the impact across the dark, and dare face death I stare and wither a flower the pedal, the reinvigorating soluble stand beneath, the reach clamp between two shifting plates, ceramic screeching, dust blowing from all directions; I hear a heart beat thematically heat and grip the surface, my head subdued by the its raw flesh and bleeds, soaked by the purity, by its rhythmical authority. I never cried once. 

She, I forcibility argue: “I have misplace my body”, dwells towards the soul I present myself like a coffin. Thirst for apoplectically calculation, suffer the indigence in reflection and stringing like a rope carrying weight by a fire, temptation I lust by the philosophical luminescence I whored myself into believing.