This is somehow the image of a nun. Whatever meets the eye. The sorrow is deep and worth sensing.

These manic minatures. To settle for nothing but drafts.

As of today. The picture at dawn. Nothing as suitable for a limitless grace in this expression. The sun might take place in later graphical works. Imagine lo. I just got that idea!

 Habitually stern. Red eyes. This is no mere glutton.

Creation. The vile distance to attributes in an image of clouds. The vision doors. Simplified relentless clowns swinging to adore. To see the faces. Colours reasonably sane. The inane adequacy of timeless evolution. To picture eternity.

The morality of computer graphics. What’s on display. I frown upon the emptiness of such. Where did I begin? Rely on distance.

The public scream of conciousness. To rationalize my demons. The scarce yet fathomable incursion of consequence. To convey sin.

To appologize every token of imagination. The fundamental journey begins. To emancipate darkness.

Appearantly there is a hat there. Wicked little creatures chipmunks.

Conventually honest. The break of dawn. Why is the clown always sad? Deliberately confused. Sessions of solitude.

A sick envious sensation of guilt. The process of denial. To regret the affectionate pardon.