I rose to the occasion I guess.
And deep in trance to the blood line wave traveling in through. But only a man high on his pedestal falls into the pits of hell to save her. And terrified of her strength, come to find out it’s her mother that kept her there. Love is war because he keeps falling off. Looking at the other. But war is just and something comes from the chaos. Stop being political. I’m speaking in theory. And categories of such are places to ensure you know the difference between truth and nonfiction. Her story is mystery. History is passed into the next generations handed down through books. I love my man who falls down from the sky pouring into me his overflow. And I am fine being here in this garden. In time, he’ll be.
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