Forces That Made Us Thinking

Never The Fluff Be Untangled

Himulmol of that sando worn, justifies my belief,

life would not be really like a smooth foam; this’s

creamy and pleasing to the eyes; himulmol is not.

Through that rugged surface of what y’wore, You

still managed to constrict it honestly on your thin

physique. How’s that? Still can’t reflect deeply on

the beautiful philosophy; on how you planned to

enjoy life/tolerate/invigorate with that garment -

keeping it hot. Himulmol on that sando, is, well,

Badly aggravating . My, oh my, tickling to skin; as

emphatic eyes, I’m quarrelsome as far as stroking

the hand on the sando’s concerned. Even though

the touch is tingling; the experience from start is

  ---awful all the way.

Realized that whenever himulmol’s on the plane

I pledge to cut them out; off with their existence

They raised life rough, seas rough, an anti-gentle

They fashioned one, form, of love, rough. Finest

shamefacedness, horror to myself, suffered from

  ---something - - not only himulmol, other

things that are rough. Remember the tiled floor?

has coarse microbes on it! Puncturing on smelly

feet, tenacious on foul-smelling socks, displaying

the world (Earth’s shape’s rough) who’s the boss

  ---who, is, the, rugged, inconsistency of Vitality

Life, yes, is truly unpolished

Yet even it has a craggy exterior,

I recollect the sando, its himulmols

Are unequivocal, are un e qui vo cal.