Red

Arrange the ones that bare the marks. Sometimes it runs, but never dry. 

It's empty that way. 

It's like the feelings that you love to hate or the symptoms that never appear while poisoning you slowly...

It's red, and sleek to touch and smells of a burnt velvet winter. Caging in place what wants to be captured and the release of what desires change at the center of it all. 

Can you taste it? The coppery-iron I mean. These words are meaningless and lack reason as much as the lack purpose. There is no true desire, here nor there.

Scream if you truly can, but can you?

It flows to and fro and it's fraught with desire, passion, and anger to fuel it's need to burn. 

Burn, slowly my love.

For when you wake this daydream will be over and that which once was will be no more.

Breathe will be gone and so will you. The soul of the vessel is a life energy that offense me. 

Offense my very existence as it is stained by that which is opposed to the obvious!

So crucify me, like they did their savoir on a cross of my omissions. The untold truths as missions by missionaries long lost to the quest. The chances are inevitable and the hunger is divine, divinely celestial. 

I bare no grudges for they not serve me in my quest to define that which I truly desire. 

In time, they too might come to recognize the error in their ways, for they have sinned.

It is divinely remarkable that we've reconvened here at this time, upon this hour. 

Shall we then make haste dear one? For the hour is late and time rather impatient.

Aside from our inner burdens what more do we hold onto when we feel defeated?

Make no mistakes, as there are none to be made that we err on the differences that were primordially established to suite ourselves. 

I can't be angry at that which angers the soul for that was its purpose.

One can only feed this beast at their own expense. The feeling is insatiable.

I cannot preach like the preachers on their pulpits. They condemn the sinners and those lesser than them but who am I to judge?

Who are any of us to judge? Are we without faults? Without flaws?

Beg, pray tell how it is what it was once and no more gives what it wants to?

Remarkable is its existence within that which borne flesh over it's secrets.

These are the stories that will never be told, the sins that cannot be punished and the movement that is un-energized. 

Reversible Osmosis. 

Science. 

Life, religion and love.