Ponderously wading through
a conglomeration of
seemingly mixed yet thoroughbred actions;
Succinct but contradictory evidence of a distaste for the
the innocuous gray matterthat would make up the inglorious bulk of what is shared between us; A life. A complete, whole, constant life. A life that, by any other observation, would seem innocuous. Innocuous in the sense that its muted disdain for passion equals
100 at the same time,driving one deeper tempering an animosity towards mediocrity, pushing onward towards either
something or nothingThe lack of a prevailing wind makes "something" look like "everything," and "nothing" just feel like a whole lot of "something" you don't have. The expectations of a full commitment, beyond what is relevant to one's ego. A lack of moderation in self-preservation at the benefit of someone who is every
lustrous and lustful,to you.