I wonder what goes through her head
She's like a book I've never read
The cover both enchanting and confusing me
I comment how her hair looks cute
And peel another piece of fruit
Turns out orange will rhyme with something
With pith under my finger nails
You interrupt, rebuff, regale
You said you know that I'm waiting for you
It seems the radio concurs
The DJ spins 'Venus in Furs'
As you amuse yourself to cure me
While that's less quote, more paraphrase
And now it's weeks instead of days
But you still get to stay equivocal
I'm feeling far too old to care
'Bout books and covers, pith and hair
So I'll just take it out on poetry
Who want's a love poem?
A thing about some guy and some girl
and how something's just so damn blissful
or just so damn sad and dramatic?
How about we find something we can swallow?
How about we forget our little cry-c's,
and take half a damn second
to write a damn love poem...
It seems I run here
as if it were a confession booth;
concerning looseness of eye or brokenness of tooth.
I find my penance here
I find my penance here
and now constantly
and concertedly I understand.
What I can see to be sin is simply a symptom
it is not the disease
and it is not a matter of debt, but lack of income.
I have taken no pleasure in my beloved.
Where is my joy? Is it not in the Lord and the fullness thereof?
I have been fighting a battle already lost.
To pursue to imbue in myself a passion
while the stone of my heart remains as a frost.
Striding for the ends to produce means has no ration.
When I read that faith without works is dead
and then pursue works to produce faith
Reset pv4 pin ID add host lvl with
the broken concentration, and I'm just so tired.
Command prompt preferred and no I don't have a router,
but yes I'm an administrator.
Why are you punishing me?
Why am I so superstitious all of a sudden?
I'm repenting of my sins in an effort
to get my hard drive running smoother,
like it's a catholic father
who just gets crotchety in the presence of gigabits
and lil shits who won't behave
and condemns this piece of crap to an early grave.
Oh, but maybe it's just I need to unscrew and then pull out and blow off and put back in...
doubting it all again and a big circle starts anew.
Still so tired, maybe... if only, I had control.
You could not help but fall for her
Despite warnings from every cell of your brain
You could not contain
How could someone be
Different shades of different emotions
At the same time
How could someone go
From being the blazing sun
To a violent storm
In the blink of an eye
And that was the trouble with her
You could not tell the next thing she does
And there were many with a prettier face than her
And a few with soul more tender
But none that could stir
A single emotion
One look from her
Caused ripples in your soul
The longing she developed
Cause she was not the caresses and soft kisses sort
She would make sure you meant
Every compliment you uttered
Before she accepted them
She would ask why
You loved her
Instead of saying I love you too
She was never just simply pretty
You know the kind you put on your shelves
For a show
She was not just one element
but the whole package
Something you had never witnessed before
She had fire
Her feelings weaved silent poetry
All around her
And everyone who saw her could see that
Everyone but herself
Her thoughts were too loud
-loud enough to make the deaf-toned world hear them
She was reckless personified
Descending towards nothing
And you would gladly go down with her
If it only gave you few more moments to have her look into your eyes
Not seeing at you
But through you
Making you unravel yourself
She could not be bound to a place
She was the wind
that ruffles your hair
caresses your skin
and sweeps your tears off your cheeks
and fly away
just like that
leaving you fixated
on that spot
waiting for her to hit you again
but she is already gone
You never wanted to love her
Yet here you are
Loving her anyway.
Somebody spilled pink stuff at this computer...
and there's the same sticky pinks stuff...
at the other computer in the other building...
I can only imagine that spider-man
must have a distant cousin
that shoots sticky digestive juices out of his wrist
whenever he flexes his fingers a certain way.
Damn annoying for the rest of us non-mutants.
You could at least just pick one and stay there.
My mouse keeps getting stuck.