Though this eye looks ordinary, it endowed many lifetimes of imagery known to be unforeseen deliberately. Though this eye looks ordinary, it grew behind the strength of wizardry and length of consistency held alone in plain sight of misery, though if not for the visibility of utmost efficiency shrouded alone in a system we consider a mystery held by a series of proficiency but behind those eyes, behind those mischievous illusive guys lies more than meets the eye. It's filled with various types of rage and if you don't believe then turn the page and gaze at his pupils consisting of nothing but a blank faze where he writes for days on a pen with no base, no ink, no page, or aid to accompany him as he traveled the age where it became apparent nothing would change, weather he had to close the gate or destroy or create but that only triggered past events which went and came, it was so estrange because it happened then, then over and over again. But though this eye looks ordinary, it changed based on things that have been explained so if you read his eyes, you know what's in his head. Blankness sobriety follows his inert case in ways unfathomable, in ways impalpable, in ways incalculable hoist by a ball and chain inflicted by his brain but that's a debate I'm too afraid to exclaim in the presence of his domain and I don't dare say his name for if I do, my escape may forever be an estate for where I would be contained in a coiling eight of infinities embrace. Though this eye looks ordinary, it's a cave that behaves as a place of pure chase until your eyes quit, until your fingers convey, until your tongue drips, until your mind breaks, until they all sprinkled matter heaped in a fit of rage with passion that acts like a plague. You can say it's an outrage but really it's a mutual exchange of his sight compelled in all its range.



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