Do butterflies fly when they have
If a palsied rose makes shy
I can too chew this taste of nullity.
Tired fingers? Mate them.
To create a delusion of sympathy
The TV, ever turned off. Blank anticipation?
The staircase is always too parochial
For the all non-patrimonial.
I infused myself with a box of chocolate.
Vain and heavy.
The perception of gratification
Should I crave it for a perpetuity,
Or just repudiate excessive delicacy?
I exist for lack of remorse,
But the ordeals play filthy deals
In my daylight.
The obscurity is irenic as
I am immune at wholes and holes
When I doze.
You could ascertain it with no word.
Just a glance over the dusty window,
And a pale insight of what is behind
Beforehand. And after.
I will confess you a mighty arcanum:
To instil impotence at offering
Without weighted limits,
And ever foresee the epilogue in all
So to not venture to feast on adventure