making oneself vulnerable, a shallow pit of melancholy that overruns with misunderstanding, not able to carry on the grace that shines from a sunken pond of drowning virtues, evanescent into a soft galling quietness and obstructed by the distances that far out are painted as impossible mercy that those sentiments refers, that one self encourages to muzzle. enclosing those whims the appearance that you hold dress over stains of weakness and get along with the concern of disappearing, lungs became heat and slowly dry at the flare of the fluttering gavest scorn.

a whirlwind that impose as the avaricious scourge orchestra, performing a parody of the few lines that still insist on surviving over the palms of your hands, taming that which insist forcefully to become your voice and making it a subtle transgressor, a mere silent enemy.

but while the rhythm of the waves numbs those crepuscular senses, those who at the gentle tide price a welcome to the slumber to remain young; while those fluids sounds keep emanating from these depths who so shyly try to be unwary, then the flesh that maintains the heart pungent will become discolored, bathing about them insatiably.