like an abyss
you delve into him and keep falling deeper
there is only falling and falling
nowhere to reach
as firm as the mountains;
as torturous as an echo chamber
his taste in fashion as mysterious as the afterlife,
his taste in fragrance is pleasant, his music is heavenly,
his voice angelic
his words are cherries falling off of a cherry tree to which one might starve to death until one is able to pick une cerise
branches full to the brim of cherries good luck experiencing the joy of the fruit
I am stepping into the byss.
I cannot promise you reader that this boy is a friend
He is more my world than my own.
a warm blanket to me than my own blanket.
Comes the part where you enter his mind
it is like entering bliss.
a library equipped with all the materials about mathematics and metaphysics
summer and winter,
war and peace,
love and poetry.
He is poetry If it were not for him how could poetry exist.
If it were not for him, bliss can not, shall not, will not exist
picture a world where you are starving to death
plenty of fruitful delights right at the center of thy palms
picture yourself unable to reach for any
as you will risk falling with no return
do you scout the paradox?
paradox must be synonymous to abyss
After all, this boy embodies both.
