The mist of deity fills in pleasure beyond controlEngulfs such unbearable senses that clouds the thought
Like a drug that circulates those timid cells
And lushes out with a slash of a blade
Cries do the men in baggy shorts
The tears are hidden from oneself
But as much as how good he hides his gloom
Is as good as he feels every cent of sting
He will try to make the most of every hour
But will be discourage as the counterpart ignores
He will try to understand… to rationalize
But will end up slashed and burned
And the story goes and continues…
In line with reasoning and false suppositions
With over analyzing of word thrown
Connivance will always be desired as long as it is desired
-lencio

