As you know, and I know that you Are not the imbecile people you consider, Mister, there are moments where something of relevance is lost. Lost in a permanent fashion. The fashion of the damned. Put aside cognitive war and slow d**h, Then the latter is perhaps the best way of spiritual cleansing. Purity. Allow me to enjoy the sweetness of the utterance. Just for a second, for a minute, an eternity for me. Now consider this: lose purity. All of it. Any honour left in you? Had merely a black & white image of it left when I burnt it.
Faith, d**h and the ill day-dreams....flames are my victory in urbanum infernia. And hence believe I have to set the photographs afire. The daunting black...was it the sixth moon of sadness for him? Pale-white, smiling, commenting bluntly, Understanding a crippled heard despite all hardships. Never really seen a rainbow that putrid But does that darned make my beloved red any worse? Cursed day dreams. May is gone.