DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I'm well aware that nothing makes sense, including this poem :>
content is not something we give consent you hold your pen yet the ink spills as it pleads you are a walker of blood yet it sheds out when cut & bent you have a brain yet the tongue blurts out the feels
content is not something we color just an acceptance of the past just a canvas you get to paint with limit bother good for a day then a memory till it lasts
the kiss of a palm forehead & cheek drafts in my head just to render a sleep some greed never fed or a satisfaction to meet yellow till it goes mustard & a shade deep
the saving of a night that would save the day it's like it's gold but your swallowing the sand? the desperation for a treasure at some bay how would I even find content when out of the hand?
Oh dear heart, Tell me why do you get excited, When nothing lasts, Why do u want me to let anything in, If it´ll only cause me hurt, Why do you cheer for someone, If you know there´ll be an end It´s lovely when the heart craves something, But terrible when that doesn´t last
I want you to be My last dance My last kiss My last chance My last wish My last love My last laugh My last hug My last half My last start My last end My last heart My last mend My last day My last night My last way My last right My last
She is the best thing My mind can see Long amethyst waves An unscarred wrist Talking sometimes I can hear her voice In silent letters Through the phone And now what she is Is a beautiful presence A lovely evanescence That sleeps with me And guides my dreams From miles away With her blender fish tank Someday I fear All that she will be Is a ghost of a dream Forever lost to me
Nothing ever lasts forever the new height, the length greater the chances all the slimmer Winning is worse than ever The very pressure all time higher it is easier to fall over but to forget and do what to be done and fall down now than later seems better.