Contrary
I remember the times when it swept me away from his clout and then reeled me in at the most unexpected period. When every endeavor to prove people are wrong yields opposite repercussion, the sole existence will placed at an ever lower at the hierarchical pyramid. The boulder precipitated towards my back is much more excruciating than the visible mocking gaze-lowering face. The coruscant imagoes presented are just the disguise of the audaciousness incorporated in the bandwagon of comparison, obsession and intoxication of the phantasm.
The crucible entangled the very conscience is the rectifying of the unconventional philosophy to suit the stereotyped logic. The interpretation of any comprehension lines varies but only one remains true. Does the standard always have to be only way and unquestionable? Does the authors' bourne even in the consideration or simply a simple generalization? Is it wrong to possess an axiom parallel to the others? From my Argus eye, one should just drift along the trend to avoid the fate of becoming a blatherskite. Nobody wants the routine to get ugly.
Choice is the buttress of life. As a testament to the kaput ingenuity, the misconception which prompts me to walk a different path has taken its toll on my future. After being forsaken by the first and last time, it has become a road of no return. The branded name of being substandard piebald will be one with me from then on. The pride of the first class will ratchet the chutzpah eventually and any repudiation is futile against the tide that consumes defects and preserves perfection. The coign of vantage is beyond the grasp and the catbird seat is reserved. The meridian of depression is encroaching. I need a presto runaway.
Red Box experience is fresh but dampened by the absence of refection served. Lending my ears to the vocal performance of the would-be-stars is somehow very eye-opening. The persecution of dug sign reminds me of the vaticination by Cassandra but the ending is just as stated by Pollyanna. I dumped my compatriots anyway to escape from the claustrophobia as well as the enfeebling hunger. The salacious shopping frenzy is once again stymied by the cumbersome bags and the lethargic body of mine. Divertissement, you and I need a moment.
Driving,
Silent Gazer
The crucible entangled the very conscience is the rectifying of the unconventional philosophy to suit the stereotyped logic. The interpretation of any comprehension lines varies but only one remains true. Does the standard always have to be only way and unquestionable? Does the authors' bourne even in the consideration or simply a simple generalization? Is it wrong to possess an axiom parallel to the others? From my Argus eye, one should just drift along the trend to avoid the fate of becoming a blatherskite. Nobody wants the routine to get ugly.
Choice is the buttress of life. As a testament to the kaput ingenuity, the misconception which prompts me to walk a different path has taken its toll on my future. After being forsaken by the first and last time, it has become a road of no return. The branded name of being substandard piebald will be one with me from then on. The pride of the first class will ratchet the chutzpah eventually and any repudiation is futile against the tide that consumes defects and preserves perfection. The coign of vantage is beyond the grasp and the catbird seat is reserved. The meridian of depression is encroaching. I need a presto runaway.
Red Box experience is fresh but dampened by the absence of refection served. Lending my ears to the vocal performance of the would-be-stars is somehow very eye-opening. The persecution of dug sign reminds me of the vaticination by Cassandra but the ending is just as stated by Pollyanna. I dumped my compatriots anyway to escape from the claustrophobia as well as the enfeebling hunger. The salacious shopping frenzy is once again stymied by the cumbersome bags and the lethargic body of mine. Divertissement, you and I need a moment.
Driving,
Silent Gazer
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