Backwards readable soul

I still cling to my soul-sustaining, soul-sickening, alley walls. Collapsing cellars gape beneath my feet in murderous trap-dishes, and my restless sleeplessness spills the true pearls of Destiny. With child's teeth full of mischief it would have been better to have hoped that all might be better - In the eyes of bees another dawn-myride if blossoms: the beating heart never forgets rosebuds.

Outside, the profit-globe, scrabbling in the wind, is ever on the wane. Every honest memory is dusted with tear-drops to memory-pearls on the shores of hearts' hearts. I twist in the intersection of my four-walled room; the knife-light of the balmy moonlight lurks like a worthy murderer. Salt washes away my desires, my unconditional hope of happiness.

With a fluttering, no-man's-land vulgarity some cover themselves, to be sensibly left out of the more worthy coordinates of truths; they are dumb, petty whores to the cheap frilly frilly bangs of maiden beauties, in the hands of their selfish offspring they themselves dread the power of the extinguishing knife. They scrape and scratch off the tragic yokes of man's calvary, that they may be more worthily redeemed. The sawing of promises slowly, gradually cuts away enforceable human rules.

Intestinate, in place of their stubborn greedy hearts, there will be greedy-lusting freaks, demented, whose sole aim is the efficient acquisition of carelessness. They degrade to dumb, yoke-wearing brutes, nodding up as Janci, the creative, creative, human intellect! - With the worldly, conscious pain of the soul, only the vulnerable guardians can be the sole bearers.