Sometimes betterment just means more refined mayhem. Sometimes we want to sit in the audience and watch you on the stage.
From one thing to another, but we can't define what is "thing". Try it again, and again, and we find myself at the end of a circular fork in the road. (Does that even exist?) The road less travelled... But are we prepared for it? The eventual.
Oh, Humanity. Don't even try to come into my territory. That sublime smell of peaches and a teensy whiff of lavender would prove to be your downfall, if you think that love is the saving grace. You never cease to amuse me.
It has been touching and irritating.
Do you leave footprints? Do you cast any shadows?
Light glints through this facet of fact, and I will sing this last mortal song.
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