let the pope have some parking space.

If you are thinking of The Pope, then you are , well, wrong. I am not endowed with the knowledge of his habits and habitat. i am not fascinated by his existence. So a wrong person to be commenting. This is a pope who needn’t be spelt with a capital ‘p’ . but to me, this pope is as spotless and needn’t be dissected to be proved unsullied. Virgin. With him beside you,i can go on breathing, giving verbal shots lesser exertion. Miniscule statement length, logic understood, nevertheless. He believes in underdogs. He believes he is a phat phish. Period. He believes the small fry can enwomb caviar. He’s My pope afterall. Ladies and gentleman, make way for pope. Get him some parking space. Help him land. Allow him to emerge. He’s a little guy no more.

left midway.

my fright has been smudged with uncertainty. i prefer uncertainty to fright. believing i am better off. the embers are ashes now. they can do no harm. no cause. no effect. hearth reignited. the newborn sepiac confettis are less fiery. they shall evolve. i know. hoping for a holy rape this time. waiting for a chaste dissection.

coming back.

i thought the embers have long since died at my feet. they evolved at midnight. they don't seem gluttonous anymore. i am afraid, still. oft as it has been, shear blades ; particularly scissors have clipped me. this time i felt uncut. yes. this could be an attempt to get me numb first. i still don't know. am endowed with immense potential to masturbate inaudible pain. realize. i am awake. do things that you want to. have clocked myself. i am aware. one more mistake and i masturbate. cautious.