Pain from the valves. It’s like pain we must allow. That corrals the mild. It’s like your inner child being lost in crowd. That’s loud. Boisterous like an oyster—Crushed. It’s something we all experience in the most serious of situations. Ones that lead to lituations and often litigations that are wrought with hatred. It’s almost as if someone never taught us patience. The desires of the patrons to give love where none take it. The straits we’re faced with make us chase bliss. Ignorant to the extent we must repent for the sins we commit and we’re born in. So much fanfare from the horned men. The demonic lost souls of the pearliest of realms. OverWhelm us like clutch of a propelled buck. Shucks we gripe and writhe for something that causes our plights to lift. In a life that’s riddled with despicable ills and sickle filled wills. Chills crawl up our spines from the memories, like centipede about the people we let into our centerpiece. It’s really hard recollecting the energy that once helped stable our inner peace. They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to have the same love turn you into enemies. This is something many kindred speak. The relief to this is to keep distance. Keep wishing proper access can be granted. To the sanctum of love and reckless abandon. Where we are with the ones chosen to embolden our passions. The agony of clashes often feel like lashes. But the one semblance of healing. Is that it does happen.