The Human Condition

I am writing this to succumb to the facsimile of the traditional idea of bread crumbs.  Autumn leaves race towards snow covered obsessions intending obliterate severance, at least until raised again.  Insomuch as I crave legibility, illiterate consequences tear apart subsequent alliterations in tandem with illegitimate concepts of suffering abilities.  Stretched as far consuming limbs abide.  With the consuming light of constant sorrow darkness strings together a certain level of affordance for the lesser human.  With the understanding, levels are but creations of the subordinate, justifiably content and submissive allowing only the trident and established offspring of genial emotions.  Here comes the sun.