Based on one word.
From the mind of Autumn Angeline.

Things to remember:
This piece of literature is simply the thoughts of Autumn Angeline. This, in its entirety, is her description of one word. It will not be easy to figure out, and only those close to her can figure it out. That does not take away from the intensity of this story. It is worth reading. Trust me.

Readers will either need to know the author and break this down to the nail or be a genius philosopher.

You are not supposed to understand this, but, like I said, it is worth reading.

There is a special place under my hurricane, poison pens or jet black hearts that I keep lit only when certain people are brought up, and I have no idea what it is, but it often arrives more than ever before. My tweedle dee passion for the pure joy of loving to live is an overwhelming understatement of the burdensome beauty that lives in that lit up place that is only considered lit when the certain people communicate they are loving to live in a special type of form that they do not let out to most anyone except me. This is a communication that drives the ever burning thriving for human pleasure. For some it is new things, for some it is old, for some it is killing of those who have communicated or want to communicate, yet never get the chance to, for some it is the natural pleasure of physical contact, for some it is the lit up place that is the only other form of living besides the deepest thoughts on the earth that acquire a discombobulation of most’s brains. I find human pleasure in having a small amount of people who actually care about me, the band and all its human connections, the music put on this earth to remind us that there is something greater than humans, constantly consuming whether it be music, food, money, clothing, happiness, sadness, or thoughts, and that little lit up place that is lit by the human pleasure I enjoy that was not mentioned in previous content due to the fact that it is simply unmentionable. This is not because I don’t want to, it is because I cannot. Conjure a song for me to relate to the topic and maybe we can get somewhere. Perhaps, “You don't know my brain the way you know my name, you don't know my heart the way you know my face,” or maybe, “I see you, here in the darkness, blinding light right where your heart is.” Both conjure the effect necessary. The lit up place is seemingly unlit at the moment because I have no interest in lighting it at the moment. I admit my failures, and I admit this is one of them. The lit place being unlit it a bit unsettling because if the lit place is unlit does that mean it cancels out? Does that mean there is no more lit place because it was once unlit? I hope dearly the opposite because the lit place holds everything up. The thought to be jar of fireflies and is in depth a fire seemingly contained holds up the hurricane and the poison pen and the jet black heart and everything piled on top of that. If the light goes out do I go out? Is there a world where I can go out so young? Does God have set date in which I shall perish? What if it comes to a day that I realize everyone around me is perishing and I shall never perish, for I have become immortal? No matter when I perish, that does not change that fact that humans thrive off of failure and pleasure. Failure is pleasurable because the pleasure lent to you cannot overcome your failures in which case you learn from your failures that gives you pleasure. If you feel you thrive in failure, you shall feel incomplete. If you think you thrive in pleasure you will also feel incomplete, but for the opposite reason. Sometimes, I say either, “fail” or “yay.” I say these because that is the simplest possible way to express I have either failed or am obtaining pleasure. My favorite type of pleasure mixed with failure is laughter. Laughter is the sweetest song. It shows beauty, all the while concentrating on pure happiness which is not often found in the human spirit. Laughter can also bring a mighty downfall of failure as it brings pain to your person from the inside. While the pain continues, you know it is worth it because that light inside is flickering again and you know anyone who can make you laugh that hard will at some point have a significance in your life. This life is full of mysteries for every human. Each failure is different. Each pleasure is different. Some are similar, but all are different. To be different in a different difference is the only way the humans of this world can get their sure fix of failure or pleasure. Failure and pleasure can only be determined by a judge and if all is the same then nothing can ever happen and that light will never be lit again. You lit my light. Let me light yours.