Stolen Van Life

A fair pile of graded kindling and fresh limbs. Wooden spring, deep brooding in each fiber, the damp air won't help. White fire, a searing brain, a taxing task, omni-repetitive, still remains at one hand. Weakling losing life to the vain ones' trash-talk. Destroy nothing is what they did, flickering out in the same degrees they claim to cling in. A generation of defeat, the last one's shadow losing to mind creases, a folded reality to claim them by late afternoon. Choose—no time for two. Soon you needn't think the weaker... the seeker. Go now, or this all can be taken faster than you can react. Try it—know you think accomplishment compliments the brave. The hills will pass, and a valley collapsed and caved; all redacts the same. Take lessons that I had taught you. Are what you are just to be the same? Shame. Your life in life, death, and in debt howled at the thought when that parasite finally sung in the cerebral mind walkway. The Gong is struck when you start to continue on without commands. It will drive, dive, and when invited inside, sink. First signs showed themselves from a sunken pool deep and became entrenched, irremovable inside incredible things. In irreversible time, you fall behind the lines of your very own eyes, sidelined, sliding horizon behind the glassed iris. Looking out at a child to continue and thrive would be a slightly happier cry. The Swan, at the moment, swaps a wasps' for the beetle's task. Tasked with a peculiar torture devised, violent arches stretch in the middle remained in vicious spasms for the remaining nights. Up until the dreadful last palpitations in an infernal happening expunging the heart from clotting, culminating in a violent expulsion.