A Sense of Melancholia
In full reality, we are connected by means of thinking. No one is able to do it all in its finished form. We gain self-intuition from any type of concept, such as our nature and freedom from science. People avoid intuition because it frequently limits their true sense of the organism.It is an intriguing and sketchy character in the relationship between beings as objects and coming to be influenced by others, but all are forced into circumstances.
To put this in a nutshell, what is so important about integrity? In constant circumstances, which are profoundly less important, the hardest sorrow comes. This is highly tragic because there are no more languages as ideas or artifacts to construct as a supreme reality, a sense of melancholia. For other reasons, the imagination is represented in many fragments of whole parts at the same time as another archetype version of loss.
Does anyone survive extremely well before the sun comes up as a new illusion? A universal human experience may be seen as a place of reflection. The struggle appears to be appropriate neglect. Through time, words provide a single claim for the synesthetic stabbed in softly. No better than the confirmation of any allusion. In this sense, more influence is clearly worth the destruction of trust.
To the honour of divinity
To the honour of divinity
I will stay in disbelief.
A heart with its own seeds?
I am incapable of your qualifications.
I am a completely bizarre free spirit already.
Many lists of words act as killing machines.
There are no breakthrough ideas in temples.
But there is a non-existing yet barbaric
Adulthood is strange territory.
At the mercy of pity measures
Do you consider me wretched?
You wish I could be your lover.
Your pleasure is to kill my feelings of life.
No one condemned the unusual in the past.
By the road, a maintenance man in the garbage
As much as your desire to have me as your slave.
Authorities practically sell scenes to their stupid fate.
He gave the order for impunity in the name of love.
I have already dealt sufficiently with this neglect, which is much worse than many. To disregard the ruins of a desire, for the following expression is silent, the purest source corrupted. How does the incomplete survive being bound by time? I have barely smiled now. I had initially prepared to believe that love was about to overcome its enigma.
I might have been wrong on this point. Love only showed me how to determine the mind and heart to hate. This is an unappreciated true nature, and the belief in happiness has been dismissed as an illusion, turning into a wreck of a woman's heart. After one chaotic day of total annihilation, I will launch a massive attack. I've arrived at the opening of the rebuttal zone. On the other hand, my audacious disobedience equalizes your erotica pride of sexuality for your hidden property desire of your mechanical body. Your impotence in living reality.
Here, as in the beginning, adventure floats to reclaim a new form. My darkness is my free spirit.