The other day the clouds cried
A-a-a-and it was louder than
So much louder than the sanity I thought I had
The skies rendered emptiness
The epitome of the reflection of my soul when you're there, & I'm here,
& the works of art don't exist enough to connect out hearts
And no, empty doesn't always mean clear
I-I-I-I tried to write the other day but the moon was not in agreement
The terms we've come to tonight are a result of the evidence I recently provided to it:
I miss you
My hands are shaking
My arms are twitching
My muscles have deteriorated to such an extent that scratching my own head at the puzzlement of my house spinning is so painful
It is so painful
I am sore
I am so sore
& I just wanna be sure
I wanna be so sure
I want to be sure that our relationship won't deteriorate as my proteins have
Our world has already collapsed once
& the thing is when the body rebuilds proteins, the muscles become even stronger
My arms are shaking
My mind is racing
My hands are twitching
My eyes are waiting to be blessed by the essence of your presence that gives reverence to the very beings of heaven
(Which is to indulge in beauty)
I-I-I-I really want to be apart of your art
I want my thoughts to be found in the midst of your strokes
I want my emotions to be captured by your hues
I want my love to be complimented by my sorrow & I want them to blend in the midst of your creation
Make it so
I-I-I-I try to transfer the goldenness of your skin
& the beauty in your eyes into the words bespoke by my lips and the message hidden in between these lines
I pretend that my pen is a brush that paints the very hint of blush on your cheeks that glows as does Rudolph's nose everytime that jollyness speaks
My arms are killing me
Paint my pain as if it a flame that can't be tamed.
Please.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
The other day the clouds cried
A-a-a-and it was louder than
So much louder than the sanity I thought I had
The skies rendered emptiness
The epitome of the reflection of my soul when you're there, & I'm here,
& the works of art don't exist enough to connect out hearts
And no, empty doesn't always mean clear
I-I-I-I tried to write the other day but the moon was not in agreement
The terms we've come to tonight are a result of the evidence I recently provided to it:
I miss you
My hands are shaking
My arms are twitching
My muscles have deteriorated to such an extent that scratching my own head at the puzzlement of my house spinning is so painful
It is so painful
I am sore
I am so sore
& I just wanna be sure
I wanna be so sure
I want to be sure that our relationship won't deteriorate as my proteins have
Our world has already collapsed once
& the thing is when the body rebuilds proteins, the muscles become even stronger
My arms are shaking
My mind is racing
My hands are twitching
My eyes are waiting to be blessed by the essence of your presence that gives reverence to the very beings of heaven
(Which is to indulge in beauty)
I-I-I-I really want to be apart of your art
I want my thoughts to be found in the midst of your strokes
I want my emotions to be captured by your hues
I want my love to be complimented by my sorrow & I want them to blend in the midst of your creation
Make it so
I-I-I-I try to transfer the goldenness of your skin
& the beauty in your eyes into the words bespoke by my lips and the message hidden in between these lines
I pretend that my pen is a brush that paints the very hint of blush on your cheeks that glows as does Rudolph's nose everytime that jollyness speaks
My arms are killing me
Paint my pain as if it a flame that can't be tamed.
Please.
