My Plead.
By Stoned Immaculate •
<font face="tahoma" size=1>life.
-they turn it into science
or a religion.
from perspective, it looks
like a soft, distant dream
isolation.
I muse this entire supermundane formation
<i>modus operandi</i>.
my aspirations beg
the unheard to send a repartee -
saturated in motivation
to ease the departure
from this madly,turning vale.
I'm soaked in disquietude
what could possible follow
such a strange subsistence?
nature knows.
the tree's snicker
in the temperate,perennial flurry.
they know existence.
what such untelling
torture is this?