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the coundensing of rhyme. the riddle divine.

Nine times…nines times, I have fought for these threads. the clerk nodded, absentmindedly.
seemed to agree with every word I said at-large. clearing his throat, he calmly replied cautiously.
What trouble would you have, sir? my defiant stand made him quite clearly affected, a silent stand.
the lone vagrant diatribe cautiously relents into the darkness of his forgotten intellect, a swine standing. there where a man just stood, relenting against a painful system infecting him. his twisting made leaps into the insecure nature of impact, as the crutches fell away to the floor, and he faced thunderous approach into a concrete surface. the flames ignited through a human anger flew and spewed to the floor. the scream at the end left no doubt at the intrigue in the wake of the apparent. Did you like that, cripple? he was not afraid to lunge back out at me, and his body moved faster than I had inappropriately engaged to reason. my reaction was quite opposed the rationale that I had to be slower in order to defy his obvious intensity at the situation’s outcome. bless his heart as he was only returning my light-meaning ways that night. with an above-average solid punch to the stomach and ribs. knocking me to the floor where he had once been drawn towards. the resolution to the bold feelings that were making us deem one another’s inferiority to be the crux of humor in ridiculous, sarcastic richness. spilling occasional uses of the words fuck and shit-fuck. my pain was nothing in comparison to his own debilitating ailments, and he laughed with an eerie superiority that I had not yielded to manifesting to the degree that it had, draining me of even a logical frame of mind from which to reference my behavior. the microcosm that had previously seemed only a dreamlike state of discontent, between he and I, were not the futile assurances of circumstances thrust into madness at any positive length. advances beyond our control with which the disagreement became realized by either party, and indeed, were met with the frivolous necessity to be obnoxious to each other’s open space, so to speak. savoring a regrettable appeal, a peal of sharp laughter, as his boot came stomping down on my head, and I felt disturbed by his lack of restraint to withhold and withdraw his attack on my skull. old men of oblivious gender have an incredible amount of strength in their lower legs when they are throwing themselves at you. this floor perspective had to stop now. my brain thought, lying still on the floor.