A conundrum that can't be tested, even how hard you try to exercise every specific.
Just ail parts on a spinning axis with no conclusion! The conclusion to test the bewildered expression of pieces without there own thoughts. Feelings resort to compassion.
Excluding the taste all together. It's messy how something exists, which has no theme to what they are, and how one is tested.
Tested to take your parts and find some commonality with more existing parts that urge the taste of compassion. A taste with its sense of propriety.
Justification to mount moral terms with oneself. Oneself can't tell itself apart.
Only pieces trying to organize itself while spinning their connections down the rut! Permanent desire to fetch them out of the phase that's established its original premise.
Originality has no qualms with the likes of compassion. Setting up without any discernible corrections.
Meant for outsiders within themselves to judge, plan, and exercise, without mercy to anything but oneself. Spinning axis burns desires upon urges that breakdown over time.
The spinning pace doesn't stop, until you stop and learn what truly is happening. Pieces remain in the rut. The rut full of many spread out phases too much to take in all at once.
Plans don't go to your agreement. Something outside oneself has yet to appreciate yourself, and what you have to offer.
Except how does one do that when many pieces are too spread out for one to notice? Every specific is already radiating like a charged particle. Charging too much friction between one another.
Trying not to lose one another in the constant spin of irony. Irony devoted without practice.
Practice makes time for oneself to finally notice the originality of its premise isn't truly spinning on its axis.
It's actually strolling for one's interpretations to finally notice its static charge. The different pieces are holding on. Fetching the obvious back into circulation.
Circulation outmatched not by itself. But by perception of a fully established sense of self.