A poem of great misery.
At half-past noon, Mr. Hawthorne looked
Down to the Earth, so miraculously beautiful.
A solemn yet solitary thought on his part. He accepts his faith, unknowingly.
Pen fight, I will always remember you.
Metallic sounds entails a metamorphosis of my relationship with myself, and musicality’s influence on me.
A nanosecond had passed before I found myself dwindling in the depths of euphoria, for I was flying.