It gets easier to laugh at yourself when you know you’ve been frivolous.

You’ve wasted a great deal of your time indulging in fatuous, totally conditional constraints.

You’ve been misguided by the red and pink colors of happy shapes and bewitching designs.

You’ve forgotten the most important of things, and even the small things such as matching your socks or earrings.

You’ve been too content with enticing words and completely undiscerning of actions.

It gets easier to laugh at yourself because even though it hurts like hell, you now know it was only premature amity.

I’m still thinking about you,
And I wonder if you think about me.
My thoughts elicit words I don’t presently understand.
There’s a truth within each letter;
The truth I’m losing touch with.
These sounds fade creating music I’m unable to decipher.
I’m still thinking about you,
Losing my senses in the process.

I’m still drinking about you,
And I wonder if you drink about me.
My interior becomes numb to the words,
And to the music from the inside—out.
I lose myself in the truth
As I go deeper and deeper into the bottle.
I’m still drinking about you,
Falling into an abyss in the process.

I’m still sinking about you.
And I wonder if you sink about me.
My heart’s still clinging onto my vulnerability.
Heavy with the burning feel of Clear,
Disintegrating into poisoned blood
And stagnant senses.
I’m still sinking about you,
Blending with the darkness in the process.