Impetuous waterfalls of endless attempts to created emotional flooding on the squeaking wooden floors was mental defection in old sour men drenching their woman trough their egoistic family traditions. While the female willingness dripped obedience along the aimless egoism followed by the postponed feared deathbed blinding their floating feelings although drilled endlessly empty for the ruthlessly family curse.

Planning would be essential she had to slip away in silence without emphasizing on unfulfilled dreams of punishing these masturbatory patriarchal monsters. Staring the reality right in the face, blunders every sour rejection upon the corner gliding fearfully down trough her hairy idea of luck.

Spitting slides of purpose filled memories onto every chance for proving coherence with satisfaction and agonizedly covering careless representations dropping like flies on days of pain. Dealing with personalities holding relinquished the cup of love, for the death son they never was close to, hoping for the generational change that died in the bloodiness washing their hands.

The rippled sealing cascaded reflection of a secure fleeing spot to fixate a kindly equilibrium while the verbal abuse pounded through smells mixing freshly picked thyme roasted in olive oil and a scent of new blackberry jam wafting from a nifty jar. Since she could ever remember, these constellations of abuse and scent had verified exhausting contractions in her emotional spectra.

Casual thrown papers placed into the shelf neatly like nothing ever happened on the floor that night, even though the stench of violence still is hanging in the air. Standing by the Ferris wheel reading an exit to the unbearable moment when the clown arrives. Reflective searching eyes fastening on desuetude without any circular rebellion dreams of dictatorial attachment sitting at the gate in hopeless ambush for patriarchal salvation.

Any argument came in handy just for the kicks while the slender teaching of room aesthetics sneaked upon as a coexistence of reality. Wondering why reality is such an important space in the heart of what everybody wants to be dream. Num articulation shows the far idea of reality in background of the dreams ambience, coldly scraping on the edge of the sphere puzzled by its factual existence.

Starring at the yellow substance pouring out of the jar into a blonde screaming like the chalk against the blackboard. Such painful memories of unfulfilled human beings projecting their actual failure upon others in their search for relieve. Casting love of orange as the main character in a play based on the color green, wearing a hat just to prove the rest.

The dark hallway plunged the idea that a spatial radical movement would lurk some devils out in the outside daylight. Unfortunately the number 44 followed every step of the way, like flying teapots is a proof of nothing. The smell of fried fish blended with rosewater unplaced any dreams underlying as tones in the search for coherence.

Instructing every sign to smile like amaranthine tokens of historical proportions, casting every actor as if needles on the inside if the t-shirt will ever motivate a smile in the face on the cord of f-minor. Happily pushing each moment into a sadly unhappy crappy attacks on deform systematic passion for unhearable misfortune gestated creatively grooving inside the synergetic process as if it was possible to keep as a snapshot.  Since every affect effect its own affect until it dies out and the next pop out like nothing happened, while finalizing every sentence in overtones like the fundamental subsidiary  and  implicit  meaning never existed.

Deadly search for relinquish fatal obsession beaming its lazy unforgettable penetration into each silently dropped pinch of aesthetic hope waiting until it’s over. Raining until hopes for relief comes wistfully outside every attempt to avoid any feeling shaking the skins burning reaction to cold harmless water. Tying the yellow belt into the minds search for meaning inside the combination of wordily impatience signing the deal for a non-disclosure while wretchedness define the apathetic flash passing bye into noiseless ticks sitting on the face like precisely lurked reflections satisfied in vagaries.