Poetry with well-heeled essence.

I guess the movies substantially portray solid substance, But is there ever a climax? I see the protagonist through tough toilsome troubles that seem unyielding as a banana tree in the deserts, Like amazing grace through dangers, toils and snares they come. Tragedy or happy ending, There is moment when the protagonist is in spitting distance to earning wings and the fallout is failure or grand slam. I feel life is having the same plot and setting, And my author deeps more into mystery for my love life, But this kind of mystery is consistent, and on suspense. Despite my consistent persistence, Things never seem to advance. Yes, every that one day of the week I climb the stairs but the radius between as is as static as the pi in math. I have known you from ninth grade and I’m now a professional certificate holder, I don’t no if I ever made a move cause I’m still gazing at you like on first sight. We was using the same route on our way home from our respective schools, I s

Fhhh fhhh, Fhhh fhhh. Big shame man, I can’t whistle even up to now, Fhhh fhhh, Well at least I can throw a stone, Either ways, what’s the use, A stone can only awake you when I make it land on your roof, It’s like a scalar you can barely tell the direction, The impulse between your roof and my stone is so intense, I’m able to hook up in your thoughts, Sad, I can’t draw you to myself. I wish I could whistle, That way you can follow the vibrations of the sound I make. Sorry I put us in static equilibrium, as you try to figure out the direction of the impulse on your roof. I know it’s my duty as a man to hit the accelerator, Trust me I try to but mine seems to be centripetal. My fault I know, I’m comfortable like this knowing you’re much closer as the radius is infinitesimal. My fear in following a straight trajectory is that you’ll only bolt and zoom from this our chemistry circle. They aren’t no externals out there you’ll only leave me constantly.

Sweat blood, Word so live as a trade kings add. When our math teacher said I’ll make you sweat blood for the noise, We all went tongue-tied, the talkative tight-lipped, so frosty he put us in a cold room. The next time someone said university physics will make you sweat blood, I never saw up and down activity as I had seen a week before the exam. Like caesium 133 producing 9 192 631 770 circles of radiation in a second, we was labouring. Word so live and heavy as a Bugatti Veyron engine. Nobody never wants to hear it, but we are subjected just as poor threads of a wrinkled shirt playing touch with the pressing ion. Approaching like a lion, Someone please make me stone deaf defend me with spring watered terms from this harsh tag for the weak Meant to scare the shit off, damn I am developing goose bumps, anybody to get me some booze need to warm up. Its crushing my wind pipe mmmmhhhh I can barely breath. With my eyes on the material I can’t feel the love and freedom in