you poke holes in my theories for the fun of it and with laser precision, somehow yet undiscovered. what i pine over, it lays mostly dead, decaying into purple slush, which puddles and is stepped in accidentally. ( all this agency for what?) and our manners become less prepossessing and we relax into old age and it becomes interminable and i am a single candle burning low, casting soot everywhere; exactly what you said.
sorry to mods for posting a lot this week.
I feel like you are trying too hard with this. I really like your sense of rhythm and metaphors, but it's lost in the pretentiousness of the piece as a whole. But thats just my opinion. I hope to read more from you! 6/10