The murder detective continues to write, as if for this time
There is some significance.
The core of us all: our parents; our conscience.
Those without, never do find themselves
But what is it like, having the foreseen revealed by this human of no myth?
Is there no pleasure, pure enough for this world? Do you not know of any desirable information off hand?
Enviable data that I seek.
The world withholds more questions than answers. With that being true, why boy, do you continue on your research?
Query is the mole rat; feasting off of its prey.
Before finishing off last month’s, he goes on to the next.
How is he to know, when to finish? This gander into the wild.
Soul stripped to one naked core; piecing out what is preferred. Can you elaborate on that, sir?
No data has been gathered.
All beings as feasible entities, powering thy own true will.
Betrayal at its rarest form-
The mother yearning for her child to be displeased.
Drifting along this white, slippery ocean, I come to conjure to the heavens for my soul to be for their keeps.
Butchered and battered, unwanted to say the least, heaven's doors awaits thy soul's subconscious realm of perfect amorphous figure.
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