I don't want you have no difficulty, With the things you're still in motion for. Likewise those you have emotion for, Physical love. Those who came before, Those you still adore, and new flames You think offer more.
The emptiness, that fills The hollow cavity, where A heart should beat. Where blood would go Now, nothing flows. What is there, that is meant to be?
Of the things kept inside, And all the pain I've tried to hide. Turned outside, onto the world, Wherein the soul reside. Spilled, to the ground The collapse, of all that surrounds. Careening down, The end of a life.
I was expecting you to be spying on me in an attempt to talk with the voice of a lost passenger it seems you and I are always looking for something sounds that I can't let go feelings you inspired on others losing my patience losing our tempers you're all over me and it feels so good as you are spilling a ghost I won't complain underneath a stained glass all I can do is follow the path you created with your brief smile
a moonless bird in a storm without center some things hardly come undone emptiness dissolves surfaces contours plastic hands scream in distant dreams dystopia belongs to daylight in a world devoid of shadows of thought unable really to recognize the gap between their eyes in between me and anti-me tyrants dream disembodied worlds angels have not yet been invented no more black words in mugs by the window
the propensity of deadness as real as the decay of sonnets one cannot see one's steps in bruised forests
I am singing a lullaby to my emptied hands I bow to this force the starvation of life the oblivion of the pulse in which time grows