The unconscious stream of words,
a loquacious man yet he's so insecure.
always has so much time to talk in the day.

he can never be here for you nor can he stay,
he is detached  by nature, but can charm any woman away,
don't be fooled by his confidence.

it's the unconscious stream of words.

I am like a painting understood by none.
Making people question their own sanity
With contrasting splatters of passion and depression,
And colors thriving on hidden emotions,
Showing the darkest hues that I can no longer hide.
Bright as the dawning of a new day
But meanings as dark as the howling night
And deep as an unforgiving ocean.

oh beauty, intertwine
lace around me
in midst of black shadows
i taste serenity in the nectar ,
trickling down your cotton skin
smooth like the wind on my cheek
don't let the daylight come

the sound of the wind is a lullaby
sang by each and every blade of grass
their voices so distinctive no noise can they amass.                                        
Except omitting the motion of movement in the wind,
they play a silent lullaby to echo in the dawn of spring.

A solitary seagull sits bobbing on the waves
the waves culminate together and generate cascades
The seagull stays determined he will not be dragged down
yet one little misjudgment of a wave and this poor fellow will drown.

Parce que t'aimer
c'est-à-dire
aimer soi-même

Beacuse loving you
meant
loving myself