May, June, beauty, compassion, misery held close. And partly taken in, partly. Just cells doing their bit, subject to the slightest quake, saying who're my friends, what's worth it to do. Soul sees itself as it could, as it can. Today partly sitting in judgment, devoted to render competent verdict but reducing to lifelessness every act, replete with affront dominant incapable dominant. Just ice, glass, something cut in Sanskrit.