Morosity et la métaphysique

Ah, the despondent void that seems to follow one around like Mary's Lamb..except that this void isn't nearly as edible not prone to being fleeced. 

Fact: this weird sense of sadness is a perennial hanger on, and much like a ghost, it manifests itself most malevolently when acknowledged..though however I must confess, it feels awful kind of warm and sweetly miserable to step inside this gaping void, which exists for reason so well known. 

Rains don't help neither. (How decidedly Victorian lame with eww inducing romantic overtures)  

--

There's a tachyon paced 

continuous loop of infinite movie 

lining the innermost caves of my synapses, 

ceaselessly whirring 

a photo luminescent reel 

of secret delights that're endlessly 

and eternally emitted and absorbed in gasps and ganglia. 

Soon..