a flowers

i thought of light. i thought of a darkness to touch without the fear of the constant wind that blew in the orages of the found to be. for me, without knowing that i could, my mind set to traps of debt in the silence of the followed through, without the mind to atire to the settled in the few, my thoughts of fear of light, as though the cure would be in the needed of the flown case in the lights array, without the cure of silence from silence in itself. the for arrays of momentum, from its slice of thought into the neverness of it all, as a wind in the night to bring sweat and more of its in the proper temper of its own. maybe i had thought of it before, i can't say for certain, but the shallow guess of the night without its before are's, a light in the doubt of the broken without itself to see the light without more than itself. if i had to bist to the sight of it all, than no doubt the sight of winters skin without the snow would adire to the needs of a broken silhouette wher...