iqmagi

Dear Sir or Madam,

I behooves me that my well meant demonstratives have a way of scaring the swaying perch belonging to a large murder of crows. What can you do? At times it feels as if my heart begins to swell and fill with a foreign metalic liquid weight. An ache, not unlike a pulse, rythmically lunges throughout the tentacles of my soul. This porcupine of my unseen flesh disturbs me to no end, for it sabotages the constellation that smoulders with happiness and the vermillion psalm inherent in its sharing. I wrote something on my dry erase board today, it says, "The generosity of this formidable pain has opened the gifts of a swift reparation! In respect, I bow my head before all that has led to now. With each renewal, may this diligence bring unpredictable joy, and the inspiration to pay it forward."

And so I shall. The only conquering artifice strong enough to undermine the devils meloncholy is the oracle squeezed from the grapefruit beyond the axoms and dendrites in my mind. I am referring to the opiate cocktail filling my soul as I run through the green embankments of natura and charge onward running like a Satyr through the hills.

Love Always,

~S~