Lots of love flutters but only I see you. Abstractness treats me crazily and I don’t know how to see. Happiness beyond love is more than life, although more than life normal people think is death, so don’t think I’m joking when I tell you I’m crazy.
More than us we see. More than people feeling, more poems happy, feelings with words, in abstract interests. Feelings and desires with lots to feel, but to see is feeling so feeling is feeling. Feeling lasts so breathe feeling, as more will free you. But without it all we can only see breathe of sky, Then breathe of dancing, then breathe of blonde, then breathe of weed.
More will see only to feel. More will blackout until they green out, and others will green out until they blackout. The difference is up to you. Because many have died, and so now you laugh at us.
Loving more than us, will breathe life in us, but life in us breathe a cat who spits up a furball. Breathe is small mice, who mice around words in fire, which puts out water. That’s the devil speak. No more will see God, but devil needs words.