The festival of disruption, all eager and displeasing
stir and feel – all the heart-rending events
That exacerbated breeze, the hidden potential for empathy and peace
A glass castle calls out our name midst dilapidated swish and sway – the underlying, undying evil which spreads endless and thanklessly murmurs beneath hardening feet

Handsome man handles himself

Is this really truly the auditioning process that we speak of…

And a righteous existence fails at being, upsetting constantly the alarmed divide inside

A whisper, a wildly misleading notion, proposed to silently suppose a thing of utter anomaly within

IT stirs again, yet these ghastly ghosts of yesteryear do feel it finally

When the glass castle spreads its wings and sings to smash a comparable ceiling … nocturnal at being decidedly real – there’s a person who holds all evil in himself and he is about to
steal each and every one of their sorry sullen souls

Whispers when he screams sweet Mulholland Drive delirium – upside down and plagiarised on purpose

David Lynch is his masterfully mixed-up mouth-piece

A child actor, a whiskey-sniffing star, mild to the brim, he sinks while he swims in a sea full of hopscotched cocaine – he takes himself off and away like a woolly jumper upon a searing hot day

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