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.