Expectations to excel. The thrill of the conquer. The misery of defeat. Mutterings scribbled on a page. Do they delight the mind? Ignite imaginations and passions? Or do they leave you wanting for more?

More intellect. Indulgence. Piquing the mind with hints of illusion.

Do we cater to the masses or write the emotions of the heart? For the simple face of what they are worth. Value. Trinkets of my soul, for myself or for the masses. Precious hidden jewels of immense delight or misery.

The pain of illusion. Raw emotions. The car wreck of my pain for all to see, for all to view, for all to read.

The heavens look down and scoff at this. This infantile scribbling. Oh, to the gods. Muses that be. Guide this pen. The mutterings of a mad woman. May it be to you a nectar of purity. Ambrosia of raw delight.

May the senses inflame with secret passions.

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