I serve a boiling pot of water seeping through my chest (vest). I'm programmed to watch and learn while the sleeping tiger licks its fur 'till pristine gloss falls all over the lampshade.

I am dynamic beyond being, I felt a cup float away today; I saw it teeming with wicked women, all angels in their own rights.

Foremost I have gone which a way that has never been taken, because I believe in no wrong and I believe in no evil. The heart stops because it's beating is transposed by the fortress of many termites streaming across the fields of mice.

Cloud bursts in the rain has fallen and the neck of all beasts, brass and thin, has taken over the hearts of many. Gallant and freedom, they fall.

Child burns, and stripped clean of network, the chance of many turns thin and weary and feels to the fallen to be bone and chores of whores go into sleep until fallen once more. Dangerous nights these are, full of eery stock of which fulminate over the glass into the top of the lid and spilling over to the hearts of many and none.

Chosen one.

Tormented and stained, there are kaleidoscopes that run through the breeze and child bearing my pleas are nothing but women with born pinpricks inside, a childishless nothing which goes for a ride. Demons have surfaced and gained a wing, this beating of coffee and something all white within a dream. A cello, this fellow has gone for a ride and nothing through something has finished this chide. A galloping horse has reason to say nay but reasons of boredom has gotten in the way.