A soundless vocal of mis-intent
captured in the raw labyrinth obscenities;
cowering, calling, an excuse is rare
for the torturous hand one enjoys to situate.
Could it be that the love had descended?
Decreased, increased in a multitudes of nets
fortified, only, when a tempo arouses the flesh.
A dance so luckless, leaves all the ladies of fortune in unrest.
Why are you so potentially dull, distorted and ambiguous?
Pray, tell me so - let your tongue becomes senseless from fleshed-dances.
Had you seen or where you always this infertile?
So, I gather you rupture, yourself, around you, it is the suicide of living that fascinates you.
