The way it is. Possibility and a miss. Misunderstood growing up of someone who sounds everyday gibberish. Why, oh why, have you lit the match unmatched to be lit. Then you went on with another stick of a miss. Miserable things are tension strings upon a heart which wry. My mind and what it is. Thence, a beautiful scheme of tomorrow’s day slits it’s way through and through. After an end, I end my miserable things. Under aim and an armor armoring things; does he shoot well upon strings to aim loose not to lose to score and bruise. The heart of his contenders only if he knows them well. Tends to be something of a joke. Home, sweet home is there and a culprit who got caught might never come again back home. For why ? He murdered himself in miserable tendings before mentioning his, name.