Dear Justifiable Anger

You have burned me I admit. I admonish your unhealthy platitudes, your versus and neurosis that corrode over the facade of my evening walks. Plentiful illusions that are just a little bit to empathizing were I, perhaps, a beer shaped jigsaw puzzle on the night time news. Where were we? Laughing about the white line tragedy, the corduroy durability, I was just getting to know a little too much about you and your demoralizing terrential insanity whose infidelity is perhaps a little over wrought upon the nuiansces of post-commercialist expressionism. I cradle your pathetic androgenous mediocrity, I peddle your out-right inaffective morray of self-depravating alleviation of pity. Do you read and write in your own blood? Heavenly seraphs, wing'd to the magnificence of Victorian pageantry exemplify white light new found prophecies that are truly the dieties of mine delicate aural harmony. To speak of, your licentious malificence will inevitably corrode weather and diminish within the lumens of your heathenistic lethargy which is a frayed euphemistic littany of barbaric self-infliction.