Growth when perceiving reduction of this
Subjective reality

Proportionate somehow
This fraction of interest
doubled over, delighted expression,
This pain, It's strange, gaining more daily, gradually making it safely now seeing these states of gluttonous need faked I'm convinced at times, just enough to slake this need to rake my teeming heart that never falters in initiating every question posed to the legions of potential mates inevitably lost to leave for alternate reasons, and this I hate, when I held high my honest hope, mistaken, they take their leave, aggreiving the instant infatuation with promises honestly got me weak. I think these signs we keep seeing probably lead to an intimate need to ache and breathe, shake and feed, take and dream, play and she may relay the same objective, seeking each other, perhaps others, but now it's late, each thinking this meeting be fated and a moment is traded to thank whomever it was that took interest enough in training them up to stay up later still waiting to feel this hour of love.
And I hate it. Calmly. I take my bait, self-made inspired by naive aspirations that break apart the deluded frame containing the film of fabricated promises and convincing arguments continuing incessant untill I agre and stitch a phrase to fit the stage that I would raise the question. Time drags with flirtatious passes until a consice and clever cacaphony of my creation suits the situation. I glowed with vanity, shades of possibility danced round the vial that contained this daring question sleeping ragged, beating haggard at my breath screeching at the little caution briefly holding back this ******* secret. This one last moment I needed to just enjoy the sound we weaved together laughing, speaking, secrets. I have known, for hours now, since we chanced along the streets, a crashing cliche that callously created the juncture of our meeting. Since she her eyes agreed with mine to enjoy the others company. I fortold my hopeful nature would incite my thoughts to somehow agree tonight the longest streak of recieved rejections in history, believed to be held by Mr. Perry, ten years now and SHE might be the key to leaving this sea of seeking, I must be drinking, but no, I speak to her my saliscious line, visciously timed and know  the circumstances still provide the newest addition to the bottomless list.
I take heart I can still feel new wounds.
Hope has ran, and this plan ends like the rest,
With his children, Pain and Melancholy, to visit me in the drain, and laugh, and sing, and talk of many things. Pain insists she see's my heart is one which strains to bear this tyrants cruel command to supply him 'care' unending, unblemished, pure. Unheard of amounts comparable to the stars, sea particles, ****.
Carelessly caring too much without any reason, without explanation, expectation, or thinking is a pleasant reprieve to those who need help and those would be thieves.
You're careless in caring, which is a great way to practice exploring this life and developing habits. It will not help when you're faced with choices that require you know the depths of importance.

Melancholy hummed this quietly, a somber sweet melody that trickled down with  wisdom pain brings. Together we three sat aside the doubt that infects all the newly rejected courageous freaks with hopeful hearts discarded like heartfelt high school letters, or ghosts that haunt my messages. If they give their word to be assured they feel nothing by her answer, they will lie to numb themselves and save face and and race find the shelf that held the help of hell and helmed a night of excitement and debauchery, swept through the thoughtless black sea did he forget the answer she gave to he, and so his shoes took him three miles across to repeat the previous procession he planned and then forgot. She said yes that time, and kept the forgotten memory secret.

too quickly respect, or thank, or hear the drifting voice  

I will cling to my belief it will be worth it


For I will bleed for my love.
Tough mutts sputter and gates shut up discreetly along the pavement I travel.
Bending screaming dark and hollow seems unneeding to creeps who feed on that kind of thing.
You know the type.
You know I know how you like to play them. Create the clones to discard after rehearsal. probable reactive laughing mad at tragic accidents sadistic mastiffs attack and ravage and tear and
Sadness.
The fictitious movies play out onto the skyscape of this mind we share, and attempt accepting the last thing you truly fear.