Limit

A shady grove bathed in volcanic passion, soaked between the sweat glands of a nightmare born into, a call to the sky, shouting from the depth of your pupils, reaching deep into the subconscious thoughts of the bottomless abyss growing inside his soul.
The mind, cringing and clinging onto the breast of chaos, suckling the despair, breathing in the anguish of existing within this unknown paradise, damaged and vanquished, casted and torn into stars, torn into windy leaves, dancing around the flames, burning the sinking sand. And the soul remains. Remains a barricade of wonder and defense, with the sword slashing to demand rightful justice, but hesitant with each powerful blow, the knowledge of the heaviest downpour rests bleeding in his heart, heart pumping the mystified inevitability of a commanding connection severed collectively with extreme commotion. Then, the river of locomotives and parasites to challenge the spirit of a ghost, aimed at the ready and the strikes are more than perfect precise precision. Digging deep, the steel penetrates a goddesses soul, breaking the shattered detention we have so long suffered, dying inside, and the sweat, dragging our eyelids downward, blinding the truth the goddess lost so long ago. When the birds could breeze through the catching winds floating above a crisp current beneath tranquil oceans...the goddess has forgotten and yet reminded so fine. So again.