Jul 2017
In accordance with almost everyone, there are martyr ice crystals encrusting themselves around the stills of my parted lips, cutting like fibre glass and staining in silence
(As if they've ever cared at all).
The blue, it has begun to creep across my cheeks in a rush, letting my eyelids rest in a salted fury.
I've grown tired of worldly visions and contriving plans to save treason from contradiction and they now say it's time to push the stop button. Simplicity caught in the threads of a sequence - let's just add another scuff to our clean slate, shall we?
According to the honeysuckle lip lock you're playing on, I don't deserve to clutch the pink mass of flesh that is stuck between my striving jaws, so I should just gnash my teeth just like I'm getting paid to screech like a wild animal and chew it off in that ****** fashion I've developed from years and years of grovelling on monolithic stretches of asphalt
(Hidden beneath the feet of statues).
After all, my skin is cream without mar and the crimson tides that would spill from this cavity-ridden pothole would contrast my charade in the most lovely of manners.
But then again there are the extra ones left over, like you for example.
You press your face to cold glass and tell me that you'll always listen intently, and I just hope that your actions won't flatten you out. You fasten the phone to your ear and tell me that you'll always be here unchanging.. But I whisper so quietly and yell so loudly I'm afraid someday you'll hang up without looking back. You glance into my eyes like I'm sacred, and tell me that you'll always have something to say to make nothing else significant but the textures falling from your vocal chords... But you know what you've gotten yourself into.
In accordance to your belief my mouth is wildfire through a dead forest and I should open it up a little more to get rid of the rot in its way. Without us thes fertile soils won't birth the parking lot grasses for us to run through like nobody's business, and I've always loved losing my breath. When we get there you say that we'll watch terra cotta and french rose invade our cheekbones in the most complimentary of styles, and then you'll fold promises like origami and force them into the vices of my fists
(As I pound my hands into the walls to try to tame my screaming emotions)
But cherish them I do, and I favour you just the same.
They say tiny water particles clustered in suspension are no place to hang up my brain stem for the evening, however you and I think otherwise and I have this funny little quirk that happens to involve listening to everything
(You have to think).
(As if they've ever cared at all).
The blue, it has begun to creep across my cheeks in a rush, letting my eyelids rest in a salted fury.
I've grown tired of worldly visions and contriving plans to save treason from contradiction and they now say it's time to push the stop button. Simplicity caught in the threads of a sequence - let's just add another scuff to our clean slate, shall we?
According to the honeysuckle lip lock you're playing on, I don't deserve to clutch the pink mass of flesh that is stuck between my striving jaws, so I should just gnash my teeth just like I'm getting paid to screech like a wild animal and chew it off in that ****** fashion I've developed from years and years of grovelling on monolithic stretches of asphalt
(Hidden beneath the feet of statues).
After all, my skin is cream without mar and the crimson tides that would spill from this cavity-ridden pothole would contrast my charade in the most lovely of manners.
But then again there are the extra ones left over, like you for example.
You press your face to cold glass and tell me that you'll always listen intently, and I just hope that your actions won't flatten you out. You fasten the phone to your ear and tell me that you'll always be here unchanging.. But I whisper so quietly and yell so loudly I'm afraid someday you'll hang up without looking back. You glance into my eyes like I'm sacred, and tell me that you'll always have something to say to make nothing else significant but the textures falling from your vocal chords... But you know what you've gotten yourself into.
In accordance to your belief my mouth is wildfire through a dead forest and I should open it up a little more to get rid of the rot in its way. Without us thes fertile soils won't birth the parking lot grasses for us to run through like nobody's business, and I've always loved losing my breath. When we get there you say that we'll watch terra cotta and french rose invade our cheekbones in the most complimentary of styles, and then you'll fold promises like origami and force them into the vices of my fists
(As I pound my hands into the walls to try to tame my screaming emotions)
But cherish them I do, and I favour you just the same.
They say tiny water particles clustered in suspension are no place to hang up my brain stem for the evening, however you and I think otherwise and I have this funny little quirk that happens to involve listening to everything
(You have to think).
