Blatant.

Transition into a shorter cycle, far more blood shed in the death of the seed into the husk. 

Fate you saw, that  strive to drag it down towards that drop  into your fit into . 

The transition you hate.. a pain filled pause. 

The shadows of old. 
​​​​​​

The love unreplaceable or unreasonable or unrequited. 

Blatantly odious to everyone but you.  

The recipient of denial of living will. 

The Exclude able/ excusable.. 

This is the first time that the dearing speak of this. 
Denial living in the shadows to catch you unawares. 

Looking a pon  the blatant execution of the pause . 

To be continued. 
​​​​​​Throughout the patterns of routine. 

Again and again , this is a sharp transition into the no longer possible. 

Not again, screams the little irritations bound by overused . 

Never again hell, yelling at the demons of degradation and demand,  they still ignore you and demonstrate , use  restraints . 
But not in a good way. 

For who is in charge isn't blatantly clear. 

Far too many maggots over there. 
In menopausal hell.