Ruthless Indulgent

Appended by feasible reasons, abstained by au natural ersatz of subliminal virgin thoughts, I am left behind, with infinite feast of not to fall, in love, again. Deceit has its own new sustenance. Masticating ominous of putrid gluts. Intonated. Introverted. Intoxicated. Valor after valor of sans saints lovable fomentation, dolling over my cuss inertia. Subservience hallucinating of the crème de la crème blood in the veins. She is one hell of the hoi polloi lady.

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Effete wisdoms are cavorting dubious grasp in my ever feeble world. Commonsensical prelude is the so called of all I ever needed. Yeah, prudent equals decree of the fucking fuck. We are the cynical cohorts of our own Florence nightingale. Contentious. Quivering the basic lingua of soul wishes. They say the colourful rainbow is the shell of sheer gratifications.

And I’d say “How could you be in hell, when you are in my heart?”