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For truly heaven is in these lips. Immortality imposed upon none but those possessed of the most pronounced proclivity towards oblivion – heaven is in these lips – and perhaps it was, it is, it shall be. Never, ever, and yesterday – progression denied, transition negated – and but a kiss, transcendent ever, transcendent over, upon blackened wings the horrendous expanse of a most unwelcome eternity, an incogruous, disjointed abyss unworthy even of itself.
The world before me – now but a disjointed series of inverted contiguity, amorphous hues, taunts me, tantalizes me, invites my madness. My words of love the winds carry fruitless to the stars so that they flit in excellent fancy upon the all too ubiquitous breazes of eternity, formless, naked – a veritable, unappreciable juxtaposition of life and death, of ever and never, of Amac and Cama.