I find myself in a reality thoroughly mired; Hard wired to this dire strait of a habit: to remain inactive; Actively, though, I find myself being rendered blunt, Thoroughly ineffective. Effectively seeing my being contorted into shapes ignoble; Progressively rendered moot, Thwarted by my avante garde a la feeble.
And as I face that reality, really all I want to do is Relay these reverberations that Go thump! thump! whenever we meet; Convey these fizzles that turn my stomach outside and in Whenever we share an embrace to greet. Can I rely on my grammar to share my emotions? Or are her stories old news now? I guess what I'm saying is: Can I speak?
Can I, nay, may I deliver my formal interjection? That my emotion towards you is still a subject; That I'm hoping in my heart that the idea of "us" does not Come across as abject; Or imitate a noun and become an idea that is abstract? Because what I'm going for here is for our souls to find contact; And as I fill these blank spaces with hope; What I hope most for, Is that my sincerity really comes to the fore; That you understand that I'm not here selling dreams and lifestyles; But rather that I want to bring them to life before your eyes.
So can I speak? Can I tell you of the hope you carry? Can I tell you of the joy you bring? Can I speak? Tell you everything? If not, can I at least tell you How crazy you drive this thing? (point to heart)