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| Voici le monde dans sa finalité. Un tourment au Ciel pour le plus grand malheur des anthropoïdes ensorcelés. Ô combien est auguste la terreur au coeur de l'homme qui n'est pas affranchi de sa bêtise chronique. |
An ornate brazen vessel filled to the eroded brim with simple pain. Through out each & every sinew tearing. A dream embodiment though embedded in my blood.
All this unceasing furious rage just for one enduring embrace eternally stretched across the ineluctable pervasive gape!
My strained azur eyes never weeping. The gall in bed with utter acrimony!
These are what cadaverous memories have shaped within my brain bowels, in a seamless void. Rendering thus the brittle illusory carnal abode among the Classical elements into a horror place, till now that hidden regret make her cynical spectacle known.
She says: "You my friend are the one to blame! You were your very own dear Hell. You, your Paradise and the Holy bridge to it.
But see!, my sweet poor boy, you ate the chaff! You put the soul into the fuming froth, then placed this in your noble heart!"
Our life span makes things move. It's our Soul the inner creator of naught & sweetness.
"I sing a song then hate but do not cry. I am the quenched root fret with my own makings.
Regrets are only mental projectiles of the which like what's to come, you make to happen, then do again."
