i hate movies and i hate books. because by the end i've changed and it may just be because it's two in the morning and i am beyond exhaustion where loneliness is starting to consume me. and i'm upset, and i'm lost but by the end i've changed or i'm left seeking wanting more of the story that wasn't real to begin with. and it kills me inside. stories of love hardship where characters fight through thick and thin to get where they are to choose who they want to be to have a mother lose a husband and have to raise to children that hardship that love that fight. and in the end it ends it ends happily. and happy endings i'm not complaining about. but there's a part of me that doesn't know what to do with myself once it's over. and i'm lost. i don't understand.
inch closer to the ebb of my voice. fear your -self in my image. see the understanding wreath itself in transitory honors and awards, church bells sounding for the no-bell prize.
And in this void of paradoxical living I live within and without my body For it is nothing but a shell that for comes the shallow epitomy in society For ugliness lies in the hive where it breeds Parade in all our humanity Run through the swarm And break open the black oozing hive This is where the sickness lies Not within us But within It
We met on New Years Eve but no - we didn't kiss at midnight and no - we didn't see the grand fireworks because we were distracted and missed the clock at twelve. For a while I was dispirited by the lifeless celebration, until I realized the next morning that even though the explosions in the sky were out of view there had to have been fireworks because yes - I felt them with you.