One whispers to oneself - why is it so hard to be just you.
To this, The heart ponders over the selfless pity look of its own eyes - The trickery of the mind blocks in.
The soul seeks why?
Just then, when it was about to give in to the symposium of the mind, the heart shouts and roars in the direction of the Venus Goddess
It was just a mere natural act of self loathe: the idea of being INDIFFERENT to the eyes of the remaining whispers caves in.. . .
But what remains is just the taste of its own phantom in the end.