Ceremoniously doth I the soul whose intentions were virgin but yet left misunderstood and left to rot.

As i scribble on the chalkboard the cliches of life, the urge to suddenly be refreshed pauses me with a dot.

Strolling on the wet grass I inhale the freshness of the misty air as I envelope into my conscience.

Soothing dimples of the little ones leaves one fleeting and in regrets, a sad reality accepted in acquiescence.

Oblivion awaits you O vagabond of the South, your days are faded and your memories are wiped slate clean.

The modern day Bluebeard resents his counterparts in the arms of love, a sentiment eternally salivated for yet labelled sore mean.

Serenades were spectacular familiarly charismatic and poetry finely tuned to dissuade the young lass of a chance.

Humoring smirks engulfs the atmosphere as thou recollects thy naive self embracing their suggested affection and romance.

Endearments were earful and gross confessional displays were in full disarray, detestable men they were and to imagine the audacity they had.

With the tough exterior developed over the eons, thou had qualms in settling for mediocre, of course that would be astoundingly mad.

A penny for thy thoughts, certainly not, as to certainty of thy pride and bitterness the ladder coverage will definitely go over the beyond.

Yea my esteemed reader and invisible figures of Eros and Agape, that it in proximity and attachment does it have an effect to correspond, thus I implore thee do abscond.

Though behind the mask of haughty pride lies a scorned and enraged soul desperate to hide from the deceit of unkept promises.

I am today, tomorrow I was, there’s no more fighting left and I will wander off into the oblivion and there I will find my accomplices.