my emotions are the fuel to my writing and boy are they a finite resource I feel like I just extract them from my very being and force feed them to my keyboard maybe my keyboard has turned into a parasite now i'm addicted to letting my emotions leave me
short, sweet, the girl you probably want to meet she, keeps, it, real, in the sheets, sometimes tall, sharp, the girl you won't meet because she won't give you the time of day she, oh she really keeps it real, you see, she, is not real, but she feels real
in the depths of my mind you do not exist at the forefront of my mind you exist...occasionally in my subconscious I feel your presence and when I am unconscious, we are one
why have we stole glances at each other for a year a whole year what is your name? who am I? why do you come as close as possible, clench your jaw, and look into my eyes? odd just another figure looming in the background of my everyday
i guess you could say our eyes are the most selfish things to exist whatever we lay eyes on we usually want our eyes....wandering glancing teasing widening focusing manipulating