wet skin to skin; a tightly gripped kiss - urged lips
that surely wished they had spoken their feelings first,
then to seem like they’re both trying to quench each other’s
thirst. still shivering in my nerves that I’ve grown so lost
for my words – trying to find my identity in your eyes surface
              ...you look too beautiful for me to even claim

it’s my own shame, that sticks on my throat like a smoker’s
cough – though this love sickness is worth the bit of irritation,
of not always knowing what to do when I’m so close to you
                     ...so yes, I held you, and kissed you

but that wasn’t the initial plan; you rested in my arms and I
had my words for you ready and armed – but my hand in it
all had lost its touch. darling this is so much of a rush for
just a simple crush, to us finally going out, more than once
       …I just wish that from the beginning, I had told you,

                                                      “I think I’m in love”

Hopeless City please remember me when I end up forgetting myself,
Hopeless City please guide me when I take a wrong turn in hope of finding something new,
Hopeless City please don't leave me like so many others have before you
Hopeless City, crowded buildings, empty streets but night life booming,
Master of fait, future keeper, love maker, love stalker all consuming
Hopeless City please remember when I end up forgetting myself,
Hopeless City please don't lose interest and turn your attention somewhere else,
Because I'm not much but I'm something,
Im swimming when your sinking,
Nights alone, *** drugs and drinking,
Hopeless City please we're both falling but at least we're not alone,
Hopeless City please don't forget me for your my only home

Ye much like akin of sin not rut
Hence zen at stake compel
more than ye to truly accept
spell bound land that cast lite
Which lost harbinger never apart from
Hence ye might must perfect cursed fu
Which counter kia hast long sprung
Cause lark of loss gawd proudly sing at heart
I am nor what living script meant
I am sinorut via host welcomed descent
Hence destiny account for wake of us
Though fate continues too miscount era
Hence we winerves through serving evil in labor good at work

sorrow fills my body but i don't notice
until it's too late.
but when is
"too late"?
is it when my tears are barreling out of their ducts like tsunamis?
or when i can't get out of bed more than twice a day?
or when i don't know if the reason i can't breathe is the weight of melancholy on my chest or not?
or is "too late"
the beginning of it all?
when is it "too late"?
"too late" has a certain ring to it.
it sounds
like when you're rushing to get someplace important but you trip and fall
and realize
that it doesn't truly matter.
because nothing does.
when is "too late"?

Fickle
Done in mentioned light...
Through and due the common, the still
Notice of compliment, a comment of right

None
The more we save, from the proof of simplicity
Story's and a sulking tree, the seldom of fun in the sun
Turned to universality, with the eyes of anarchy

Amend
Sour and refined, refrain from the beauty of compel?
The pout of another gift and the choice of feeling's substance
Over the quiet since, that has become ours to weal...

Things
And the duty of a desire in worthing heaven, the hell of unity
Given me, and the role of synchronicity a resolve, to sweeten
Time is a daring host, to assure even the tiniest of needs, vicinity

Arduous
Threshold in the lime, the boding of every else, in the book
Staid and remembering decorum, like a hell is every cause
When we are the understanding home, to a willing look...

Force
Are we a stir of responsibility in the arms of voice, or its cope?
Timid as we are, the calling of it all, is a wisdom's source?
Look hard for a nature? when you can have a friend for it's love...

Caring
True to mellower stares, the throe of uncanny light
Made from the none, are we to survive a decision, so faring
The response of decency, that a swim with the devil, is also right...

Liberty
Loan the call, to me for a universe's song
Trust is a walking might of the deed, asking the seldom, evil's
Is it me, or the shade in a wishes stir, the tout we held all along?

Where is that hand,
That motherly embrace,
Which comforts in its ****** -
That motherly hand I can trust?

Where is that hand,
That warming caress,
Which eases the nerves -
That cocoon of soft curves?

　　There is no rest anymore
　　In thoughts of exile and escape;
　　My being is shaken to the core,
　　My soul bent under the stress.

Where is that hand,
That soothing absence,
Which cradles you gently -
That silence of calm and mercy?

Where is the hand,
That promise of better days,
Which relieves innocently -
That convincing “don’t worry”?

　　There is no rest anymore
　　In thoughts of exile and escape;
　　My being is shaken to the core,
　　My soul bent under the stress.

Does anyone know the difference between feeling butterflies and feeling nervous?


Because they’re staring to feel like the same **** thing.

I think I’m in love with you.

Someone broke my best friend’s heart.
They’d been together throughout the entire lock-down.
And even though it looks like we’re entering a freer time,
he said it felt like she’d become part of the claustrophobia.

Explanations can snag on nerves like fishhooks.