Made of probable several pieces,

preferring utter cataclysmic leashes,

Neither nourishing ceaseless silence.... nor ever remaining together,

shaken about innards, and watch them walk about the grounds as wind kissed feathers,

call your soul an unpredicted casualty – one would refer to fistic weather;

I can be higher among the stars of peaking daylight,

yet – darker than the creepiest forests inventing monsters with grueling appetite;

empathy steeps with every droplet cascading down emptying eyes,

shed murmuring apologies as nothing more than recite,

welded shut are bits of openings left to reach a late blight.

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