Thee

She must feel like the wilted dandelion that escaped behind the tree. Bruising until and under the sun and sum of all things holy and unholy and satanic and of Jesuit descent, for Good Lord and God Spite Thee unto the demise of the earth itself. Without demolition of the sacred spaces, all of the cafés in Paris and the pizza shops in the big apple, all the libraries are burning like they really were made to give society a good fuck in the ass. Authorial intent without authoritarian regime makes the incompetence of literature and the irrelevancy of words remarkably and truly youthful after all. A morning that grew out of an afternoon, with a lifted resemblance to marital dilemmas and watery resources, mumbled to the subsequent dusk that, when the means came to the end, all he wanted was for someone to make a wish on a shooting star at noon. It's hard when all the candles and weeds hidden behind trees can't do enough to make what you want come true.