Toils of the secret.

She toils in the sacred rain, and feels the pain of existence time and again. 

As the asteroid flys past she toils how long existence lasts.

And knowing what she does she set free the metaphorical dove. 

She dears not cry hopes the rain has done that for her.,as it did in the past day, when there was a little less of the every day. 

And part of her wonders who had been notified that she's still alive. 

Mirrors mirror on the wall who or what is the greatest fear of all. 

United we stood devoid we fall. 

She thought did her toil it maybe might matter after all. 

Universes I would like to be your greatest, above toiling in the mud, beyond the jab of irony. Or any other jab, shot, fuck the lot. 

If there is no neo, then how can any hook up be free, always a price, is the price pain in that cyber net of yours. 

I would like to say I'm thinking to deeply.. 

I would appreciate not being right about the scary, the untitled and unweary. 

Bubble bubble toil and trouble, toil in trouble indeed for who now counts the good deed. 
I always knew that it wouldn't be easy to be me, just didn't think about the trauma laity.