I would like to hear the aroma, through the vast tastes of the musical strings. I want to smell the clouds' smooth textures, and ride the rough sweet and sours of the birds' mellow tweets. I want to smell the granules of the air, and caress that Pizza Hut fragrance. I am swimming in a world of senses, blindly sking these sugary plains. My senses are blind and thoughtless to truth, I am the most sensible, even though I have no sense. A spear is a javelin of war, it cuts the air and spreads the butter elegantly. Its cheesy spread tingles my taste buds like beauty, grasping my tummy into submission. A spear is an arrow of war, it falls as the last dominoe and wins my heart, it keeps beating like a jazzy symphony. And when the beat stops my heart my soul shatters, these millions of glass shards are my scars of war.