~ Blessed be that [which] Will Obliterate Every Trace [of Me ]~

 


the man of monster, old gentle soul too grievous
      to forget the grieving. Finding empty the
                                               Houses of Lords, Fathers, and
                                               dead Daughters,       wit
              all spirits in a
   colloquy      of     yester'year's  glee
                    that happens to be not happening
                           anymore, nor anywhere
                 (where the blind eye looks to see),
                                        
O,  aye'll be'damed as the blessing of your living Room has no
         place for me in the space between your love and your finery.

Time is waning (as it should).
                                   How little, how much, irrelevant be,
             among old monster'men wit no-thing left
                              to think or say
                                            to the goddesses of
                           pathetic imaginations.

It is pain and sorrow when the machine can work no more......
                just another     precious        discard
(now
        that   you again
                                   are gone
                                              so much
                                                 more with each
                                                                            moment)


aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.2i1uqxgeyc.gydwgyddddddddddd
2018dkzk///\\\alsoBADphotosBYdkzk~~~