Here we are again, in my darkest night, I’ve never escaped I thought the last stretches of a pitch-black pool did not reach me.
Should I be happy on the crescent carving my brokenness? you said how beautiful the glimpse of the moonlight is, they have been a prosaic, silvery dust in dismal, but now, they are a rare light in the sky.
I adore things that aren’t mine and so you are, I held an illusion in my desperation, and it wasn’t the universe's fault for sculpting an embodiment of galaxies and stars, such ethereal like you were living in a myth.
You can be there and begone or just begone (your mercurial imperative) but this time, I wanted to be left on the traces where you were at.
We're loose associations. Brutality queues the phrases. Reality loses luster, in fallow with boot to daisies .
Cowering and embracing our trusted tomes, honing a fruitless joke, that only touches on tones that suit the layman
Famous and clueless faces. Racing to rue the cadence. Faking a sweet embrace, for imminent tears, but grew impatient.
California coos sooth impostor fits, but it's a syndrome fifty shades dense, and way to thick to fit the staples.
In case you were getting wayward; our guiding fables, sentinels that they are, will guard the stables and bark orders, pouring out the spirits and clearing history, with brazen logic. Honestly, I carved a broken heart, instead of tapping the maple, sue me.