Cartilage Reform

There is no answer, now. What a brittle sentiment. Damn, those words knocked me through the wind and fiery echo, wretched with burden. So soft a cradled massacre stumbles half withdrawn in utter fury, a tempest left lossless so suddenly in a primal tribute to the fortified shifting keeper. Alarm goes fast like a bell dragging curdled luck. A penance grows dim and turns soft. Yes, like a new gifted arsenal of cardiac arrest. A timely fortune was then bestowed upon us? Would we keep it? A treasure, a title, a triumph

I, dear, near crumble.