A girl who can no longer speak of herself in a better light is lost.
She is so sore,
and afraid.
A loss of whimsical outlook has drowned out her ability to breath.
A corruption of lungs.

Just to feel a better enlightenment,
I will scream.
A transgression can burst into it's own odd combustion,
It must leave sometime.
I must let go sometime.
A girl can walk by me;
An exchange of compliments,
which will mean nothing in two hours.
We as humans surely must know what kind of burden routine prospers in.
Please don't call it pessimistic!
Rather, claim it pragmatic.
I like optimism,
I do!
Believe me or not,
you will discover,
little conversations mean nothing.
My, oh , my.
Is it not possible to laugh?
What a monotone expression you carry (while looking into the mirror).
Are you afraid of connections?
Is it what the world has given you,
that makes you hurt so very badly?
I glanced at you with that man the other day,
the one who causes a more true smile to form on the curves of your face.
Did he cause this?
A man with vacuous essence,
is terrifying;
Is he not?
The people you surround yourself with,
are shallow.

Because you taught me to,
I will push the boundaries of subjection.
Twine me around the broken glass,
while beating the **** out of my mental clarity.
You laugh,
because you've endured the same.
We sit in coffee shops,
ever calm and ever vital.
You argue with me like there is some imaginary competition within the area.
What have you to lose from my contentment?
What have you to gain from being stubborn?
When you love me,
you love me angrily,
"Passionately."
It is all I take not bellow from the scorches and whips of your intellect.
Is it I who exposed you to such inevitable hard-ship?
Still as I silently ponder these notions,
accusations.
I will sit and grin with you,
and talk about your ****** philosophies;
Nodding in agreement with your thesis like the little dependent girl that you've created me to be.
You taught me.

Why is that when I catch your eye,
you quickly look away?
Do you lack the closure,
the confidence?
It pushes me,
to wonder
about
you.

I was left as an open book,
to the entrance of your very sorry state of consciousness.
The blame feels much better when directed at somebody else.
I danced with you by pizzerias,
over the Autumn when nothing was to fear.
Rose-tinted lenses fueled my perceptions.
During my most severed days,
I still feel your chestnut stare;
Lingering over me,
unbeknownst to my own.
It is fair to claim that you made my as I am.
Sadly on my own,
pizzerias have no definite significance.
I am just ******* dazed,
and angry.

I'm the sort of indifferent kind of girl;
Searching the nooks and crannies of my own association.
Many and many times I am silenced,
pulled in and out of dull colors.
These colors,
so bland.
They quiet my logic.
Am I what I make myself out to be?
Japanese proverbs speak as my mask,
they are what people perceive me to be.
Wise words,
demolished feelings,
demolished memories.
Pessimism rules my subconscious,
am I not eager?
Can I type any more of my arguments without them being heard?
What more needs to be said,
dictated?
So,
I walk and stalk like a branded faceless being.
Do you lack the feeling,
the feeling I've been missing?
I'm much more mature than I had anticipated a few years ago.
I want to go home.

A child with fine features,
blue eyes,
learns from teachers--
deep below our perceptive thought,
our Einstein philosophies,
and artsy intellectualism.
She multiplies the rose bushes,
across the Italian culture,
so romantic,
so fair.
breathing only to discover a Shakespearean air,
about herself.
She knows more than most,
sitting just above the state of human consciousness.
Reality is reigned by being just.
If one could know,
if the lion tamed,
of cruel desires,
and citrus teas.
We would object,
justification.
What beauty lay below a rose bush?
Nothing, muck.