drum drum drum she pounds
on my sleeve, upon my neck ; in my dreams.
but we adopt resistance to feelings that hurt us.
now I walk through this art gallery blind I can’t see but I think those paintings are of us

You’re not, влюблен
But you adore when it tugs on your hair
when he’s behind
and eyes can’t meet because for long now you have been
strangers  and you’ve tied your gaze away from it
-the vison

but that feeling had lost me some time ago now.
but yet,I had missed the innocent despair of hopelessness;
it just coincides so perfectly with the isolated night.

it’s the strung of the first few seconds. open a portal to when these words swarmed like flies in delusion, whithering onto your name spelt on my phone. Whisking dreams in my head. I should have turned off the light, dimmed the hope; so that they would fly away.
I hold the song in my palm as if an artifact. funny as I go to write artifact my keyboard suggests artificial as if it knows

because that’s what it was and that’s it raw. and as for me it was me who tied ribbons around the lyrics to be a certification of  us that never was. it was the only part of you I could ever have when I was alone because who was I to treat you like a friend when everyone was your friend.

I’ve untied ribbons and stepped back, so far back that I have reached a time before I had known you or before I had claimed you in my mirage.
apart from tonight I gues

love loses
and slowly, sparsely
it’s fading away from me how it feels to
be shot?
to be burrowed into the night’s portal of regret and despair and urge to escape.
and to write even,
and to see life pass by with a name intertwining each of its pieces.

in whole all I can say is maybe it isn’t so extreme but
when the heart aches it is drowned down below you and drips out salt from your eyes until the cries can’t go unnoticed ;
it’s challenging to sleep.

on the other hand for now my sleep is whole and I dream often

love she supports her souls with will not be sufficient I think someone must tell her truth that she is suffering alone and quiet. I think it’s time someone turned the lights off in the daylight and left her put in the dim dark of the orange street lights transparent through the window when the street lies asleep and she releases her songs to the paper and her heart can rest and she can erase stupidity hilarity from her show and perhaps stay silenced for a while until she can speak what the street lights hear when the neighbours sleep.

when this happens it seems eveyone became deaf