I've been bothered too much by gluttony and indifference. It is a virus. It is disease like the fire of rebellion, like my heart and me. Not once ever did they nor did they ever break and vanish: The compelling aura of frost all mend, talked into bustling glitter. They wished not to see, not reminders, like photographs. Too beautiful the sparkle, even if in bubbles without space. Burned up lives, the disease of opposition lost. Yet I vow, I commend inspirited fire nonetheless.
















