Squalor victoria.

Whence we forsake our friends, we would contradance, at once eye to eye and hand in hand, then cheek to cheek and heart to heart. As the eventide matures, we’d sit on chairs stark white against benighted green as we cast curses at miserable conditions whilst discounting our own indolence. (How so very juvenile of us)

I offer a placid countenance, claiming steadfast omniscience, but in truth i stand far from it. Within, my thoughts are wassailers to a hellion’s callathump, wedding my soul in torsion to a redundance of prohibition therein which i find myself coalesced in child-like curiosity. I muse with vindication; what with all our soaring dreams and apotheosise of romance, if we were made for this world. (Though i wouldn’t really want to meet someone who was)

Otiose ideas aside, i must assert that i have recently foundered and am no longer in dominance/restraint.

In essence, I no longer author my own disaster.

~ by cryhavok on February 25, 2008.