Let's not admit to the burning of hearts
to the drowsiness that became what I remembered of this love
You are not encased there is no shrine
it was broken long ago
and now all your wicked things
seep and seep and seep
into the goodness i was upheld for
And as I turn bitter the memory of you is dragged down too
down and down and down
Please forgive me
i could not help myself
you had this beauty i could not ignore
and now i have twisted it to try and forget
that sweet, sweet beauty
my love turned stranger
everything really *****
I feel wistful.
Wistful of talents I do not have,
and places I have not been.
But then I remember,
Time is limitless if I choose it to be.
So many choices, decisions, prospects,
And while others experience,
In the inbetween state,
tiptoes up to the edge
but not daring to jump,
Scared of what truth the idealised holds in store for me.
I am to find m self in the embrace of a lover,
skin to skin.
Or in a high so high the sighs of my yesterdays are forgotten.
Or am I to find myself always expecting, craving more.
Craving I had choosen different choices,
made different decisions,
followed different prospects.
All these endless opportunities,
but here I stand afraid.
Afraid to chance regret.
Afraid to chance wasted time.
Afraid to chance.
I wish I could ariculate,
but it has all been written before.
And yet here I am still dreaming of the ineffable, the inexplicable, the as yet udetermined.
Oh to be a cliche,
idealising times of the past
while th present grows bleaker.
Things lack beauty.
The beauy I find in books and films, are lies when it comes to my reality.
And the arduous task of going on feels like a puzzle impossible to solve but one I cannot leave alone.
Things lack beauty,
Life lacks the luster I have been shown previously existed,
and by romantising the previous, I only pull myself furthe away from the beauty I know must be here.
However the rare specks of it I find are the ones in her eyes.
And they parade themselves infront of me, knowingly.
But such things have been written before and will be wrote again.
And yet still I wish to articulate.
Oh to be a cliche.
i don't know what this is
With your sinful smirk that the devil would envy
Cunning eyes, brimmed with your lies
Burning fires in those iris'
All you saw was that ******, devil's red
Grace my thighs with your wicked hands
Bet your bitter self was once bitten
So bite me now with you ******* ways
A bundle of teethmarks and undiluted desires
The anger of a forgotten god
Wreaking havoc upon the land
For your bad intentions and misguided ways
Don't know if I can stand
Sin soaked world or it's endangered innocence or
Lurking shadows, in the dead of the night
I just can't fathom your immoral ignorance I
Can't accept your soulless demands
You know you can't say that
With your sinful lips in a slow dance
You're just my temptation
Can't stop this fixation
Hidden grace without noble purpose
Left to roam, more than blood and more than bone
Maybe we should just give in to the devil and
Maybe we should just let go for a while and
Maybe we should forget about a heaven and
Maybe we should and Maybe we could but there's
Anger in our forgotten gods but then
Maybe we don't really have a choice at all.
We are all going to die.
We are all going to be forgotten.
It doesn't matter if your grave is six feet deep and three feet wide,
Or if your body was slung over the side,
of a boat in motion
from hands devoid of emotion
We all end up just the same.
Decayed and rotten.
If that isn't Equality,
I don't know what is.
— The End —